


Broken Arrow

by EmieFaun



Category: Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bullying, Childhood Trauma, Dreams and Nightmares, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Ishimaru Kiyotaka as Ishida | Kiyondo, M/M, Multiple Personalities, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Hatred, Sort of anyway, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:06:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 84,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24005581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmieFaun/pseuds/EmieFaun
Summary: Kiyotaka Ishimaru follows the rules. He attends Hope's Peak Academy to become the man that his family need him to be.But Mondo Oowada brings out a side that he just can't control. And for as long as he can remember, he's had this reoccurring dream. He's had this anger inside him. He's had this...other side that he has to shut out...Kiyotaka Ishimaru follows the rules. Most days. And he's attending Hope's Peak Academy to figure out how to be the man he's supposed to be.
Relationships: Ishimaru Kiyotaka & Kuwata Leon, Ishimaru Kiyotaka & Oowada Mondo, Ishimaru Kiyotaka/Kuwata Leon, Ishimaru Kiyotaka/Oowada Mondo
Comments: 172
Kudos: 383





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So, this is my first attempt at any sort of Danganronpa fanfic! Kinda nervous, heh.
> 
> I used to write before, so this is sort of a recycled story from my old fandom (if you happen to be from that fandom back on Wattpad, hallo!). I never got to finish it and thought Ishimondo would be a good pairing to finally tell it. Lots of things are having to change in it, so it's taking some time to get it written. Also severe lack of confidence is crippling so sorry if slow updates! But I'm shoving this on now so I actually get it out there and don't back out!
> 
> Bear with it for the first chapter - it isn't meant to make sense yet. Although if you figure out, that's also cool! I'm actually posting two chapters today because I know the first one won't make sense at all haha.
> 
> Also just to let you all know, I'm playing with Ishida being a sort of...a coping mechanism that makes Taka more...well...you'll see. Won't make sense immediately, but just wanted to put that there. He doesn't change hair colour in this and is also more sweary that he is in the game. 
> 
> Also how do you choose story names?! It's just a song title. Might find a better one along the way...
> 
> Anywho. Thanks for reading and enjoy!

_He hasn’t eaten again today._

_He’s used to that. He remembers the time they didn’t give him food for a week. His tummy hurt so bad. He didn’t think anything could be so bad. But he’s wrong about a lot of things. At least, that’s what they told him._

_He’s eight. Eight and a half, actually. But they told him he looks younger. They_ made _him look younger. They told him they didn’t want people to know who he is. Who_ they _are. He doesn’t know why, but he knew better than to ask._

_He doesn’t like it here. It's cold, and damp, and so much worse than the last place they stayed. He huddles his frail body into the corner of the cave. He’s so hungry and cold. He can see his breath in front of him. White like snow. He’s not seen snow before. Sigma told him about it one night; his mummy took him out one day and the sky was raining white flowers. And when he asked what it was, she told him it was snow._

_He misses his mummy. He hasn’t seen her in so long. He had a picture of her once but they took it away from him. He closes his eyes and tries to remember what she looks like. But he can’t remember. So he tries to think of his daddy. But he can’t remember him either._

_He feels the tears prick at his eyes but he forces them back. No. Sigma told him that it wasn’t good to cry. Only babies cry. They were big boys now; they had to look after themselves. Just until they made it back home._

_He doesn’t like it when he’s on his own. He knew that one of them had to go find food and the other had to guard the hideout. But that never made it any easier. He covers his ears to block out the sounds of the owls and other night animals. As easy as it is to kill one when you’re hunting for food, he doesn’t like the sounds they make when he’s alone._

_When will Sigma come back? He doesn’t know how long he’s been but it feels like forever. He really hope he hasn’t gotten lost. Or worse, did_ she _find him? He shivers at the thought. He hoped she hadn’t found him. What would he do then? He’d be all alone…_

_He huffed out his breath, seeing it puff away and drift off into the darkness. He mustn’t think like that. Sigma is fine, he’s just gone a bit further away than normal. He does that sometimes. But he always comes back. He will be fine…_

_His ears prick at the sound of a twig snapping outside. Probably just a fox. He’s seen them around, hunting the rabbits. If he keeps quiet, it’ll stop being nosy and go away. He doesn’t need to panic. Just be brave. Be brave like Sigma…_

_The twig snaps again. And again. And again. Sort of like footsteps. They don’t sound like Sigma; they’re too heavy. These sounds like grown-up steps. Oh no, she found them…_

_He clamps his hand over his mouth, scared that he’ll cry out. Sigma told him not to do that. If she ever comes close, they must stay quiet and not move. He can feel his breath quicken against his shaking hand as the footsteps come closer. His heart is going so fast in his chest. Please don’t find him. Please don’t find him. Please don’t find him…_

_The footsteps stop and there’s no sound. He holds his breath, ears straining to hear even the slightest movement. There’s nothing, but he won’t relax just yet. He knows he’d be stupid to think they’d gone away just like that. If he’s lucky then she’ll turn around and look somewhere else. And he’d warn Sigma when he got back…_

_A foot appears at the foot of the small opening, followed by a second. The tears now threaten dangerously as the silhouette outside stands right in front of the hidden alcove that Sigma found for them. He tries to control his breathing, but it’s so hard. His hand pushes harder against his mouth, trying to cover the frightened whimpers that are forcing themselves out. The feet turn to face his way and his heart beats faster than it’s ever beaten before._

_Time seems to move so slowly as he sees the legs bend. The knees touch the ground and a hand push back the ivy that keeps him hidden. His breathing spirals out of control as fingers mould against the side of the alcove. And it’s only when the head dips down and he sees the glow of the moon reflected in those evil eyes that he lets the tears finally escape._

_“Got you.”_

_He screams out at her voice, pushing his body as far back as he can. But he’s trapped against the mossy wall of the cave. His feet scramble against the mud frantically as her hand reaches out to grab them. He kicks as hard as he can, but it’s no use. Her fingers catch his ankle, a chuckle rumbling in her chest. He’s helpless; twisting and writing to try and escape her grasp. But it’s no use. Her second hand grips his other leg and he’s dragged out into the open._

_“Stop struggling. You’re just making this harder.”_

_He screams again and reaches out his hands, desperate to find anything on the ground to use to defend himself. But there’s nothing there. Just twigs and dirt and pebbles._

_He sobs, all hope of getting home to his mummy and daddy fading away. He sobs, knowing that somewhere out there Sigma is all alone and he won’t be coming back. He sobs, knowing that he wasn’t brave in the end. He wasn’t brave at all…_

_He hears a crack and suddenly his legs are free. He looks up to see what’s happened. She’s holding her head and groaning, attention no longer on him at all. He blinks in confusion, still too frightened to move…_

_“Kappa!”_

_He look up and over her and he sees him. Sigma stood over her. And he’s holding a large rock in his hand, breathing heavily as he holds out his hand._

_“Come on, Kappa!”_

_He doesn’t need to be told twice. He scrabbles to his feet and reaches out to his friend’s hand. And then they’re running through the trees, faster than he’s ever run before._

_“Get back here!”_

_They don’t stop. They keep running and running, dodging and weaving through the trees to try and make her lose their trail. He can feel his legs getting heavy and he’s struggling to breathe. But he can’t stop. He needs to keep up with Sigma. He can’t let him down. They’ve got to stick together…_

_There’s a drop. A large drop that looks far too wide to jump across. They stop at the edge and look down. It’s a long way down. He can’t even see the bottom but he thinks it’s a river. If he fell, he thinks he’d be really hurt. They’ve got to find another way._

_But they can hear her crashing through the forest. She’s catching up. And they have no time._

_Sigma lets go of his hand and backs up slightly. He watches as he run to the edge and flies into the air. His heart is in his throat as he barely makes it across, hands fumbling on the grass and dirt as he just about keeps his grip. And then he’s up on the other side, looking back at him._

_“I can’t!”_

_“You have to!”_

_Her angry screeches are getting louder and louder…_

_“Sigma, I can’t!”_

_“Yes you can!”_

_A few more seconds and she’ll catch him._

_“Sigma…”_

_“Kappa, please, just jump!”_

_His hand is outstretched, reaching for him. And suddenly she’s behind him. He has no choice. He takes a deep breath and takes a few steps back. Quick as a flash he’s running and then he’s in the air. He can see Sigma getting closer and closer. He’s done it. He’s going to make it…_

_But her hand snatches at his foot. She doesn’t latch on, but it’s enough to knock his balance. He’s off track and instead of reaching Sigma’s hand, he hits the dirt much further down. His hands frantically try to catch hold of anything but he’s slipping._

_He can hear Sigma shouting and he looks up. His hand is within reach. He stretches his arm up. If he can just grab hold…_

_But he loses his footing and then he’s falling backwards. He watches as Sigma’s face gets further and further away. His hand still reaching out as he falls._

_“Kappa, no!”_

_He screams. And then darkness._


	2. Chapter 1

Kiyotaka shoots up in his bed, the sound of screaming still ringing in his ears. Gasping in the warm air of his bedroom, his eyes dart around the darkness. He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for, but he’s frantically looking for something, _anything_ , to explain how scared he is right now. But he’s alone. He’s safe.

Just another nightmare.

He sighs, dragging his fingers through his hair. _Wonderful_ , he thinks. _Another night of this_. Another night of waiting for his heart to stop beating so fast, for the cold sweat on the back of his neck to dry up, for his brain to stop thinking long enough for the screaming in his head to stop.

Kiyotaka isn’t sure why he still reacts this way. After a lifetime of watching the same scene play out in his dreams, he thought that one day it would stop feeling so…frightening. But it never seems to get any better.

He throws himself back onto the pillows in frustration. This is so very unproductive. He has a busy day of classes in the morning; he can’t afford to be lying here awake doing nothing. But he knows that trying to study whilst in this state does more harm than good. His best bet is to try and go back to sleep...but he can still hear him. The little boy in his dreams, screaming out as he falls into the darkness. And he knows that if he closes his eyes, he’ll just see those eyes again.

He shudders at the thought, unconsciously dragging the duvet tightly under his chin. No. No sleep for him tonight.

He glances quickly at the clock and groans. 3.am. He’s not been woken up this early for a long time. What on earth is he going to do with himself for three hours? He _has_ to turn this into an opportunity to do…well, anything! But his brain is scrambled and thinking of any kind of activity is beyond him.

Sighing again, Kiyotaka pushes himself up and flicks on his bedside lamp. His eyes scan his room, along the pile of books on his desk and over to the ironing board. _I could iron my uniform_ , he thinks. But what would be the point? He has nowhere to lay it out flat once he’s done so he would have to fold it up again, meaning he would only have to iron it again when he plans to get dressed. He needs something to do, but it needn’t be pointless.

He could leave the room. Perhaps all he needed was to walk it off. Or he could go to the gym. Exercise is scientifically proven to increase your overall health and sense of well-being, after all. That would certainly be a productive way of spending his time…

But it’s night-time. There’s a strict curfew that he must uphold to. Between 10pm and 7am, all students _must_ stay in their dorm rooms. Those are the rules. And Kiyotaka _never_ broke the rules.

_We both know that’s not true now, don’t we?_

Kiyotaka tenses up at the voice in his head. It’s familiar but unwelcomed; his own, but different at the same time. They aren’t his thoughts, or at least he doesn’t think they are. But every now and then, he hears them clear as day in his mind. And they always push Kiyotaka to rebel, break all kinds of rules.

_What’s the harm in going outside, huh? No one will see you. A rule isn’t broken if no one catches you._

He knows that isn’t true. _He_ would know if he broke the rules. And as the Ultimate Moral Compass, he _must_ stick by the rules. What kind of role model would he be if…

 _Oh, go on_. _Pull that fucking stick out of your ass for once._

Kiyotaka curses internally at himself. No matter how many times he scolds those around him for the use of vulgar language, he always feels guilty knowing that he uses it in his head. Or rather, the unwanted voice uses it. And, if he’s totally honest with himself, he’s used it out loud in the past. When he’s gotten too stressed or when someone’s pushed his buttons just that little too far…

But not now. He’s at Hope’s Peak Academy as the Ultimate Moral Compass no less. He _must_ keep this undesirable side of him back now. He _must_ be the person his family need him to be. And that means following the rules.

He swings his legs over the side of his bed and considers his options. Sleep, studying and leaving the room are all out. So what else is left? He feels his brow furrow in frustration as he fails to think of anything else that he could possibly do and he notices that he can’t keep his legs under control. They’re jiggling up and down restlessly and, now that he’s thinking about it, his hands are also opening and closing on their own accord.

 _You know that won’t stop_. _Not until you just give in._

Kiyotaka stands up, determined to prove the inner voice wrong. He _won’t_ leave his room. He can find something else for himself to do right here. He just…hasn’t found it yet. And anyway, it’s probably been an hour or so already. He doesn’t have too much time left to…

3.15am?!

He winces at how little time has passed. It’s felt like forever since he was jolted awake. If he didn’t find something to do soon, then this night would just drag on pointlessly.

_So…why don’t you just leave the goddamn room already?!_

Kiyotaka grumbles guiltily, looking at his door. There really didn’t seem to be any other alternative. There really is nothing that he can do in his room at this point. Maybe just a small walk to the dining room. He could grab himself a glass of water and then come straight back. He’ll be what, five minutes at the most? That should satisfy his rule-breaking… _itch_. Right?

“Very well,” he mutters to himself, shoving his feet grumpily into his slippers. “I shall be quick.”

The hallway is so quiet at this time of night. It’s normally far too loud out here to even hear yourself think. He can hear his footsteps as he walks, which is a new sensation.

He knows that it doesn’t take five minutes to walk this distance. It takes one minute, twenty five seconds. He figured that out on his first day here. He needed to know just how much time he should allocate during a study break to pick up some food. He knows he should really speed up and get his business over and done with, but he can’t bring himself to pick up the pace.

By the time he reaches the door of the dining room, he knows he’s already blown his self-imposed five minute time limit. He tries to tell himself it’s because he’s trying to stay quiet. That he doesn’t want to wake anyone else up and get them in trouble. But deep down, he knows that isn’t true. He knows that there’s a part of him getting some strange thrill from breaking curfew.

Kiyotaka clenches his fists with determination and strides as fast as he can towards the kitchen. _This is ridiculous_ , he thinks to himself. _Why am I wasting time? I’m only here for a glass of water._ He reaches into a cupboard, grabbing the first glass that he sees and shoves it under the running tap. _There. Was that so difficult?_

He starts sipping on the water as he heads back. No point drinking it all in one go. You must always savour food and drink, always make it last. His family could never afford much so he’s learnt to make a little go a long way. And even if this is only water, he must remember what he’s been taught.

As he reaches the exit, he hears voices coming from the hallway. Two male voices, shushing each other and laughing. Kiyotaka’s back stiffens at the audacity. They are quite clearly breaking the rules. Of course, he knows _he_ is also breaking them, but he has an excuse.

_Yeah, you tell yourself that._

He turns the corner towards the voices and finds himself unsurprised at the culprits. Leon Kuwata and Mondo Oowada. Ultimate Baseball Star and Ultimate Biker Gang Leader. Kiyotaka quickly learned that these two were going to be the hardest to get along with. Neither of them listen in class, both seeming to believe that their _talent_ is what will get them through school. Both foolishly underestimate the importance of academia and no matter how hard he tries, nothing Kiyotaka does or says has had any impact on their behaviour.

“And what are you two doing out past curfew?”

His voice is loud in the quiet hallway, catching the two boys off guard. They spin around, wide eyed only for a second. Once they realise who it is, they groan almost in perfect synchronisation.

“Ah shit. It’s the fuckin’ hall monitor.”

“Language!”

_Like you can fucking talk._

Kiyotaka pushes back the uninvited remark in his mind and marches towards the two troublemakers. He does _not_ need such unhelpful thoughts right now. What he _needs_ to do is get these two back into their rooms and remember to write them a detention slip in the morning.

“I asked you both a question,” he says as he stands in front of them, arms crossed. “What are you doing out past curfew.”

“We…uh…Well, we…” Kuwata fumbles, scratching the back of his neck as he tries to come up with a lie.

“Gettin’ a drink like yer doin’, dumbass,” Oowada sneers, spotting the glass in Kiyotaka’s hand. “Where else d’ya think we’d be goin’?”

Lying obviously isn’t Oowada’s strong point, Kiyotaka notes.

“If you were going for a drink, then you would be heading to the dining room,” he states matter-of-factly. “You are in actual fact heading the opposite direction.”

Oowada recoils, clearly angered by his lie being caught out. His face contorts in a snarl and his hands curl into fists. And it’s at this point that Kiyotaka sees what it is that that the two boys are _really_ doing.

“Smoking during curfew is simply unacceptable,” he scolds, looking up at them both with a mixture of disappointment and anger as Kuwata tries to hide his packet of cigarettes behind his back. “Not to mention that it is against the rules and it is also a terrible habit.”

“Who gives a fuck, asshole?!” Oowada’s voice raises as he closes the distance between them, looming over Kiyotaka threateningly. “Ya think I’mma listen to anythin’ ya have ta say?!”

“Oowada, I would like to remind you that it is three thirty in the morning -”

“Who gives a shit what time it is?!”

“All the students that are asleep at the moment. Are you _trying_ to wake the whole school?”

“Let ‘em wake up! I ain’t gonna stand ‘ere and let some hardass hall monitor talk shit at me!”

_Are you really going to let this asshole run his mouth like that?_

Oowada’s voice fades into the background as Kiyotaka feels his fingers tighten against the glass. He knows what would happen if he listens to that voice. He’d get himself in trouble, like he has done so many time in the past. He’s learnt his lesson from that, hasn’t he? He just needs to keep pushing those… _thoughts_ back and he’ll be fine.

“What have I told you about indecent language?” He forces his mind back to the matter at hand, only to feel his head collide with the lockers and stars flash. He groans in pain, his eyes squeezing shut as his free hand moves quickly to assess the damage. But there’s nothing there. It’ll just be sore in the morning.

_What the fuck are you doing?!_

“Fuck you, hall monitor! I’mma speak however the fuck I feel like speakin’!”

“H-hey, Mondo…maybe you should –” Kuwata’s voice is barely audible over the buzzing that’s started in his mind.

“Yer such a fuckin’ dick, ya know that, right?!”

_Seriously, why are you letting this douchebag disrespect us like this?_

Kiyotaka’s heart is beating rapidly. His mind is getting fuzzy. Like it always does before he… _No, no, no_ , he thinks. _I’ve got to stay calm_. His eyes open to see Oowada towering over him, his face still twisted in an expression of hatred. Anger bubbles in the base of his stomach, red hot like a furnace. _Control yourself…_

“I would suggest,” he forces out slowly and forcefully, “that the both of you head back –“

“Ya don’t get to tell me what the fuck to do!”

His back is what hits the lockers this time. He can hear Kuwata try to calm the delinquent in front of him down, but it’s getting hard to focus. _He’s so angry…_

_Stop being so fucking weak._

“…both of you head back to your rooms and we will –”

“I ain’t listening to a fuckin’ thing you say!”

Another slam into the lockers. He’s finding it hard to breathe. His vision is swimming. And he’s _so_ _fucking angry…_

_Fight back!_

“…we will discuss this further in the morn–”

“ _Shut the fuck up!”_

_Let’s get him!_

As his back hits the locker for the last time, there is the distinct sound of smashing glass. And something in his mind clicks. He can feel his posture change, loosen, and his lip curls up into malicious grin. He stares down the boy in front of him with wild eyes, watching as the ‘strong’ man’s face twitches with something that looks something like fear as Kiyotaka’s arm slams straight into the lockers to his side.

“M-Mondo…” he hears Kuwata stutter but he doesn’t matter. What _matters_ is that he shows this _asshole_ in front of him who the _fuck_ he’s messed with. And that he’s messed with him for the _last fucking time_.

Oowada takes a step back. He’ll allow that. He drags his hand back to his face, wiping the sweat that’s pooled on his upper lip. _Fuck_ , he’s not felt like this in _ages_!

“What’s the matter, Oowada?” he growls, tilting his head to the side. Watching the sweat begin to trickle down the biker’s forehead who says…nothing. The colour has drained out of his face and his eyes are bulging out of his skull. As Kiyotaka takes a step forward, he takes another step back. “Why’re you backing away, huh?”

“I-Ishimaru…”

A sinister laugh rumbles in Kiyotaka’s chest at the sound of Kuwata’s voice. _Not so cocky anymore, are you asshole?_ His eyes flicker over to him and the expression on his face makes him grin even more. _They thought they were so fucking tough. But look at them now._

“P-put…put the glass down…”

To be honest, he’d almost forgotten about what he had been holding before this all started. Now the sound made sense. He darted his eyes to the hand that had once held a glass cup. Now it was almost empty apart from the one shard that fits _just right_ in his palm, murky with blood.

“What, _this_ lil’ ol’ thing?” he says, almost singing the words at a very frightened red-head as he thrusts his hand in his direction. “Oh, gee! You know…I _could_ put it down...but… _why?_ ”

“Y-you could…you could hurt someone…”

 _Oh, so that’s what he’s frightened of?_ It makes him laugh out loud. _Like I need something like this to hurt someone_. Still laughing, he drops the glass on the floor and sees the tension ease up slightly in Kuwata’s body.

“Yer a fuckin’ freak!”

Kiyotaka hums as he slowly brings his eyes back onto the biker. As expected, Oowada’s guard has gone straight back up. That hideous snarl is back on his face, fist clenched and shaking as he takes a step forward. It just makes Kiyotaka laugh even harder.

“All ya ever do is yell and tell people they’re breaking the fuckin’ rules!” Oowada roars. “Like yer better than us an’ all that shit! Well look at ya now!”

“Mondo, stop pushing…”

“Yer fucked up in the head, ya know that?!”

“Mondo, really, I think you need to stop…”

“ _Quit fuckin’ laughin’ at me!”_ Oowada’s face is purple now, eyes bulging out of his sockets with rage at the maniacal laughter coming from Kiyotaka. “I’m the strongest man ‘ere! Yer just some fuckin’ weaklin’ with a fuckin’ screw loose or somethin’! Ya don’ get to laugh at me! _I’ll fuckin’ end ya!_ ”

He sees the fist coming towards him fast. But he’s faster. He ducks and his own fist collides with the biker’s gut. He hears wind rush out of lungs as Oowada doubles over. There’s some squawking in the background as he brings both fists down onto the back of the biker’s head, bringing him to his knees. There’s another thud just after he feels his knuckles collide with something to his right but that’s not really a priority. He instead kicks Oowada onto his back and stands over him, pushing the sole of his foot against his throat.

“You’ll _end_ me, will you?” he screams, revelling in the horror in his classmate’s eyes. “How the _fuck_ d’you plan to do that after I’ve broken _every bone in your body_?!”

“ _What on earth is going on_?!”

Kiyotaka’s head snaps around at the sound of the voice. A man, average height with jet black hair stands at the end of the corridor with a look of thunder on his face. _Ah. Enter Player Four._ He puffs out his chest slightly, feeling the corner of his mouth twist into a smirk.

“And who the fuck d’you think you are?” he sneers.

But he doesn’t need an answer. It’s all too clear who he is. This is the headmaster of the school. The man that makes all the rules. The man that you need to impress if you want to stay in this school. The man that will kick you out if you cause trouble. The man that…

It’s now that Kiyotaka Ishimaru crash lands back into reality. His lungs feel like they’re on fire, or maybe it’s the air around him. He doesn’t know, but it hurts _so much_ to breathe. His head is spinning, racing as he tries to remember everything that happened.

He glances down and sees the biker beneath his foot. _Oh no_. He recoils backwards, hand flying up to his face to catch the wail that flies from his mouth. The tears burn his cheeks as he spots Kuwata lying on the floor cradling a bloody nose. _Oh please no_. He sees the blood on ground, on the glass, on _both_ of his hands. _Remember, remember…_

But all he can remember is anger. Blood curdling anger and…and…

_Him._


	3. Chapter 2

_Ah. Now this is familiar_.

Kiyotaka groans inwardly at the thought. _Yes_ , he thinks. _This is all too familiar._ He hates to admit that he’s been in this position more than once. Sat outside the headmaster’s office for getting into some ridiculous situation that could have easily been avoided.

 _He had it coming_.

He pushes back the intruding thoughts and considers his predicament. He was caught red-handed, _quite literally_ , in the middle of a fight. A stupid, pathetic fight that should never have happened but got seriously out of control. He broke Kuwata’s nose and left Oowada with prominent bruises on his neck. He used obscene, threatening language towards the head of the school. And to top it off he shouted out an excuse of ‘it wasn’t him’ before passing out in a heap.

Why on earth did he say that? Of _course_ it was him. It’s _always_ him. And he’s worked so hard to stop all this from happening. He promised his family that he would just…just _stop_ and never let himself lose control after the last time.

What’s it even been? Two years? Three maybe? Such a long time since the last time. Another young boy that just wouldn’t leave him alone. Constantly pushing him around, knocking his books onto the floor, writing nasty things on his locker. Normally surrounded by all his friends that egged him on. A little gang set out to make his life a living hell.

But not that day.

He hadn’t meant to hurt him. It just…happened. And then he couldn’t stop. He could hear him crying, screaming for help, begging for Kiyotaka to stop, please dear God _stop_ …

He supposes that it’s a blessing that he is who he is sometimes. If any other child had done it, then they would have been immediately expelled. But because he’s an Ishimaru, he got away with it. No one even found it out was him. The boy didn’t want to press charges because he was embarrassed. Embarrassed that someone as _pathetic_ as an Ishimaru could do this to him. It would have been a perfect way to end any future Kiyotaka had dreamed of, but it seems that a bruised ego holds more weight than he thought.

The memory of his father that day flickers in his mind. Coming home to see his son huddled in the corner of a dark room, clothes filthy and ripped with blood all over his hands, rocking backwards and forward, sobbing into his arms. Muttering aimlessly that he never meant to hurt him, he just couldn’t stop, why couldn’t he stop, oh God why couldn’t he just _stop_ …

As frightening as his… _episodes_ were, he’d never known just how much they affected his family. Sure, he knew they were disappointed in him. _Everyone_ was disappointed in him. But he worked hard and got good grades and very occasionally found himself in fights at school in which he would just scream and shout and swear, only really throwing punches if he was backed into a corner with no way out. That day had been the first time he’d taken it too far.

No. That was a lie. It was the first time he’d taken it too far _at school_.

From a young age, he learnt that appearances are everything. He already knew he would get hell for being an Ishimaru and that it was his job to restore his family name. So no matter how bad things got for him at school, he knew that reacting there and then was the worst thing he could do. He tried to practice this lesson as much as he could, only letting the odd few moments slip through the cracks. Minimise the damage best he could. It took an immense amount of willpower not to listen to what was screaming inside his head and just let loose on everyone that ever looked at him the wrong way.

So when he got home, when he could finally relax, that would be when it would happen. And it could happen anytime. Maybe his father looked at him the wrong way. Maybe he couldn’t figure out the answer to a question. Or maybe he just let his guard down at the wrong moment. And all of the anger that he’d held back would boil over, consume him, and he would give in.

He doesn’t remember how many times his father had to buy new furniture. How many hours he would spent the night sewing the uniform that was left in pieces. How many days he would walk into work with bruises masked by foundation, pretending that everything was just fine. How many nights he would hold his son, praying that it wouldn’t last long tonight, and soothe the sobbing child in his arms once it was all over. All of this with a strength that Kiyotaka revered above anything, vowing that one day, one day he would be just as strong as him.

And then he saw that he wasn’t strong at all. The mask that his father wore crumbled on that fateful day and Kiyotaka realised just how much pain he was causing. His father, a man of little emotions especially after his wife passed away, just could hold it in anymore. The sobs wracked his body, weeping heavily into the strong hands that had only ever been used to comfort. There were no words, but there didn’t need to be. Kiyotaka knew exactly what his father felt in that moment and the guilt ripped his heart in two.

He had to change. He had no choice. He couldn’t stand the fact that he’d brought his father to his knees like that. He promised himself that he would work harder, be better, and stop listening to the voice that drove him insane. He would learn to control the rage that so often took hold for the sake of his family, no matter how much it hurt. No matter how much it clawed at his brain, begged for release, he would never let it get this far again.

But now look at him. He’d let himself be consumed by anger at Oowada and broken his promise. All his hard work was about to up in flames. He thought it would have been content with a few broken rules here and there, but who was he kidding? Rage is only ever satisfied by pain and suffering. And it seemed that his own suffering would no longer suffice.

“Ishimaru?” The voice drags Kiyotaka out of his thoughts and he snaps his eyes onto the woman behind the desk. “The headmaster will see you now.”

He nods, getting to his feet. He knows that he should be thinking of his appearance and straighten up, but he simply doesn’t have the energy to spare. So instead he focuses on the simple action of breathing, something that his therapist had drilled into his head. _Take a step back, calm your thoughts and breathe_.

He wishes he had listened to his father’s advice and let her follow him here. Dr Hanata would have known what to do. She knows the words to cool the red-hot blaze that takes over. She would have helped him focus; focus on breathing, on pushing back the words that threatened to come out and to just relax. He would never have gotten into that state in the first place if she had only been here…

The door to the headmaster’s office opens and Kiyotaka has to force himself to step inside. Jin Kirigiri is sat behind the desk, arms crossed with a steely expression on his face. He’s never been very good at reading expressions but Kiyotaka knows that this is the mask of a man who wants to hide what he’d thinking. One that, should he for some blessed reason get to stay at this school, he would need to learn to mimic.

“Take a seat.”

Kiyotaka swallows nervously but does as he’s told. He keeps his back rigid like his father always taught him. But his hands betray his emotions, wringing helplessly in his lap. He can feel the tears prickling but he holds them back. Now is not the time to cry.

There is a moment of uncomfortable silence between them. The headmaster is staring him down, his gaze hard and unmoving. Kiyotaka can feel the sweat bead on his forehead at the strain on his instincts to just look away. That would be the coward’s way out. Kiyotaka is _not_ a coward.

_Yeah. Sure._

After what feels like a lifetime, the headmaster unfolds his arms and leans back in his chair. Kiyotaka didn’t realise he hadn’t been breathing until the air rushes out of him. He allows his body to relax just a bit, just enough for his shoulder muscles to stop pulling quite so much.

“How is your hand, Ishimaru?”

Not the question that he’d expected but nonetheless, his eyes wander down to his now open palm. Considering that he had smashed a glass with his fingers, he had expected more than the few small cuts. Especially given the amount of blood he’d seen on the floor, but that seemed to be mostly from Kuwata’s nose.

“Ah…Err…” he stutters before clearing his throat and clenching said fist once more. “It is fine. Thank you for your concern.”

The headmaster nods, a hint of a smile whispering on his lips. But it’s gone fast so Kiyotaka isn’t sure if he actually saw anything after all. Probably just wishful thinking…

“It will come as no surprise as to why you are here today.”

He winces at the words. _Yep. Wishful thinking_. He can’t stop himself from dropping his gaze to his knees, an overwhelming wave of guilt washing over him.

“N-No, sir,” he forces out, louder than was probably necessary. He’s always had a volume problem, ever since he can remember. He’s tried working on it, but it tends to get louder the more stressed he is. And by God, he’s stressed right now.

“You already know the injuries both boys sustained,” the headmaster continues, seemingly uninterested in Kiyotaka’s reaction.

“Y-Yes, sir.”

“You also remember the manner in which you spoke to me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you are also aware that you broke some of the key rules of the school. One is to leave your room past curfew and the other is to initiate any kind of violence. Let alone against your own classmates.

“Yes, sir.”

“Oowada calls your actions ‘assault’.”

The word makes Kiyotaka feel sick. What a vulgar word to describe such a vulgar course of action. His father often worked on assault cases and would divulge vague details on cases that were particularly difficult. Nothing, of course, that would get himself into trouble; just enough to get the weight of the day off his shoulders just a little. And in every one, the outcome for the accused was never favourable.

“I…I see,” he chokes out, feeling his throat tighten with the threat of tears. _Just breathe…_

“It’s a very serious allegation.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you anything to say for yourself?”

What on earth could he say? What he did was _totally_ inexcusable. He knows this and there was no point lying. Poor Oowada hadn’t done anything to deserve that…

_You’re fucking kidding, right? That bastard had it coming!_

Wait. Wait, wait, wait. He had to think about that again. Recount the steps that took place last night. He had tried to send the two boys back to their rooms. _They_ were going to smoke and break the rules. _They_ had tried to come up with some ridiculous lie to cover themselves. And it was _Oowada_ who…

“Oowada started it!”

The words fly out of his mouth faster than he can process them. He isn’t lying, Oowada _did_ hurt him first. He looks up sharply at the headmaster, knowing just how childish he sounds in this moment. But his future is on the line here.

“Oowada started it?”

“Yes, sir. He and Kuwata had snuck out of their dorm rooms to go and smoke. I had caught them in the act and had asked them to return to their rooms, with the plan to write up a detention slip for the two of them in the morning. However, Oowada lost his temper at me and pushed me into the lockers. I hit my head the first time, but not the second or third time. He kept using vulgar language and called me multiple undesirable names, all at the top of his voice. He was going to wake the whole school and I was trying to calm him down. I kept trying to reason with him, but he was beyond reasoning with. He told me he would ‘end me’. And he went to punch me first but I dodged it. You can ask Kuwata; he was there. But…but…but _Oowada struck first_!”

The words spill out of him at a million miles an hour. He hasn’t even paused for breath, even though his lungs feel like they’re burning. So when he finally does stop, he’s gasping for air as if he’s run a marathon. And for the first time in his entire life, Kiyotaka had never been more grateful for his subconscious butting in.

_Pfft. I don’t need your thanks, you fucking wimp._

There’s another moment of silence while the headmaster processes the flurry of words. Desperation clings at Kiyotaka’s chest and he’s begging, _praying_ , that something he’s said will be of value. It _has_ to be worth something. Otherwise…

“So you’re saying it was self-defence? That Oowada made you feel threatened?”

“ _Fuck no!_ ”

His hand flies to his mouth at the sudden outburst. He’d gotten so wound up about it all that he’d let his guard down. He stares wide eyed at the headmaster, surprised at how little of a reaction the curse produced. He can feel the sensation of laughter in his head and he forces it into the back of his mind.

“I-I mean…” he stutters, squirming under the pressure, eyes dropping back to his lap.

“So it wasn’t self-defence?”

“N-No. Not exactly.”

“Then you intended to hurt him?”

“No! No, of course not…”

“Then what?”

“I…I…Ngh…”

There’s no point, is there? He can’t justify his actions in the slightest. So what if Oowada had pushed him first? He was the one who lost control. He was the one that hurt both Kuwata and Oowada. Kuwata hadn’t done anything wrong and he _still_ hurt him. And without explaining everything to the headmaster, there was no way he could get away with this.

_You’re fucked, son._

“Well, Ishimaru?”

“I…I don’t know.”

He hears the headmaster get out of his seat and walk towards the door, but he can’t bear to look up. He can’t stop the tears from falling now. His life was slipping out from under his feet, everything he had promised his father disappearing in front of his eyes. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. Everyone was right about him after all. Just another disappointment…

“Come in.”

Kiyotaka wishes the ground would swallow him up as he sees the white loafers come into view. He tries to remember to breathe as he hears the scuffle of a heavy coat against the back of the chair next to him. The tension in the air is thick and he doesn’t want to risk snapping the fine string that holds what little of Oowada’s temper in place.

“Thank you for waiting.”

“Whatever.” The gruff voice makes the hairs on the back of Kiyotaka’s neck stand up on their ends. “Ya expellin’ him, or what then?”

Kioytaka has to bite his tongue, forcing back the quip that threatened to come out. He can feel the dangerous churning in his stomach and has to clench his fists tight. _Breathe. Just breathe_. _Concentrate on your breathing_ …

“Having heard both sides of the story, I have come to the decision not to expel either of you.”

 _What_ …Kioytaka’s eyes fly up in disbelief. He’s not going to be expelled? His life can still go on? He can still make his father proud?

“The fuck d’ya mean by that?!” Oowada roars beside him, the chair he was sat on now clattering against the wooden floor of the office. “Why would _I_ be expelled?! I did nothin’ wrong…”

“According to both Ishimaru and Kuwata, you were the one struck first.”

“This is _bullshit_! Have you seen what he did to my fuckin’ neck?!”

“And had you landed your punch, what would have happened to Ishimaru? It would be _you_ in his position with him asking for _you_ to be expelled.”

“He threatened Leon with fuckin’ glass! He broke his fuckin’ nose! The fuck did _he_ do to deserve that, huh?”

“Yes, that is a matter that cannot be overlooked,” the headmaster admits, crossing his arms once again. “Even though Kuwata was breaking the rules, there is nothing that can justify what happened to him.”

“So expel this hardass! He’s a fuckin’ psycho!”

“I’ve already told you my decision.”

Kiyotaka couldn’t believe it. Oowada was right – he _did_ deserve to be expelled. As much as he fought for himself earlier, he would never have denied the fact that the only punishment he deserved was expulsion. But the headmaster was giving him a second chance. Another opportunity to prove that he could be a better person despite everything that was trying to drag him down.

“That does _not_ mean that I intend to let this slide, of course,” the headmaster continues, his gaze so cold that even Oowada stopped his ranting. “As obvious as it is to say, it would seem that you both have issues with your temper that cannot be overlooked. If you are left to continue the way you have been, what happened last night could happen again. But with much more serious consequences.”

_If you think you can stop us, you’ve got another thing coming._

“It may come to you as a surprise to know that the school has already been told about these issues. Your father, Ishimaru, phoned up to explain your…situation to us after we recruited you. And for yourself, Oowada, your previous school pre-warned us of your behaviour.”

He barely hears Oowada grunt angrily next to him as tries to take in the information. His father had already been in touch with Hope’s Peak Academy about his…his _problem_? But Kiyotaka hadn’t had an episode in year. He was getting better. There was no need for him to warn his new school about things that had happened in the past.

Or had he no trust in Kiyotaka? Does he think he’s not strong enough to do this on his own? Does it even matter how hard he tries to make up to him, or will his past always be a stain on their family name?

But wasn’t his father right _not_ to trust him? Hasn’t he just proven to him that he was right all along? That he’s just a problem child that has no sense of control…

“We agreed that we would wait until it seemed there was no other choice,” the headmaster resumes. “You’re both 16 now and needed to be given a chance to improve on your own. But, it would seem that it is not possible. So it seems that we indeed have no other choice.”

There’s a buzzing sound; the sound of the intercom. The headmaster mumbles some instructions into the microphone and then sits back. Waiting. Discomfort drags its fingers along Kiyotaka’s skin. He can see Oowada in the corner of his eye, see the bruises on his neck. He feels so guilty just looking at them…

_Give it up. You fucking love it._

The door finally opens and someone enters. Kiyotaka has seen this person before. He’s surprised to see them here of all places, thinking that he had lost them forever. But the relief that washes over him makes him smile and for the first time in what feels like forever, he’s happy.

“Dr Hanata?”

The woman smiles over at him, but something else has caught his attention. Something that he could never have imagined. Dr Hanata is definitely the name of the woman that’s in front of him. But there’s a sense of familiarity when she looks at the two boys that doesn’t make sense. And it’s then that he realises that her name didn’t leave his lips.

They left Oowada’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> (Edit - I realised that I got the therapist's name wrong! I've edited it now, however for those that have already read, Taka and Mondo see the same therapist. Sorry for the confusion!)


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Just to clarify a cock-up that I made: realised that I'd messed the name of the therapist up. I've changed it now, but just to be clear - Mondo and Taka see the same therapist. 
> 
> Okeydokey, that's it. Enjoy!

Kiyotaka can’t remember a time where a therapist wasn’t in his life.

The first time was when he was a child. He remembers sitting in a waiting room with his parents. The room was small and cramped, with only a few books in the corner to keep him amused. It smelled strange, and the walls were painted in an odd green hue. The carpet was grey and old, coming up in the corners. He wanted to complain, but his father told him that he must be on his best behaviour. That this man was going to help him. Help _them_.

Kiyotaka wasn’t entirely sure what help he needed. He didn’t know that his temper tantrums were more severe than the average child’s. He didn’t know that breaking all of his mother’s plates was wrong, nor that threatening his father was abnormal. He thought that everyone had a little voice in their head that said nasty things and made them do things that they didn’t necessarily want to do. As far as he was concerned, he was just a normal nine year old boy.

The first therapist wasn’t a success. At least, that’s what his parents told him. He doesn’t remember much apart from the waiting room and the feeling of utter exhaustion when he got home. His father tucked him in his bed and told him it was okay. That they would try again. But when he really, _really_ tries to think about it, he remembers the sound of his mother crying.

There were many more waiting rooms. Some were large, spacious rooms that Kiyotaka felt at ease in. Some were like prisons and, to this day, the memories still send a shiver down his spine. This also meant that there were plenty more therapists. The older he got, the more faces he remembers. Young, old, male, female, happy, serious, scary…He lost count of how many new people were in and out of his life. Some stayed longer than others, but ultimately everyone left him in the end.

He never really thought to ask why. It wasn’t until he finally realised what it was he was going to therapy for that he turned to his father and asked him what had made them all abandon him. They had been paid to help him, so why had they stopped doing their job? He never really got his answer, but he could tell by the look in his father’s eyes that it was very likely that he had driven them away.

Kiyotaka was no stranger to pain. He had felt pain when all the children in his school called him names or ignored him. He had felt pain the day that he realised that his mother was not going to wake up this time. He had felt pain every time the voice in his head told him he was worthless, weak, insignificant. But to know that he was beyond help was a special kind of pain. And pain, of course, was what his other side thrived on.

So it was a blessing when Dr Hanata entered his life. He was fourteen, not long after the incident at school. His father had put him onto every waiting list in the area. He was still seeing someone on a weekly basis, because God knows what would happen if he _didn’t_ , but it was never consistent. Passed from person to person, face to face, waiting room to waiting room. And then his father got the call that a new member of staff had started working in the local community centre. Someone that had recently moved into the area. A fresh start, his father told him, with a look of hope in his eyes that had been missing for so long.

Kiyotaka won’t say that his first session went well. Be it the anxiety, or the questions, or just the room itself, he could feel the anger building inside of him right from the get go. He tried answering her questions, but the words themselves were like knives trying to slice her open. The hatred in his gut was screaming, the violence that he was so desperate for blurring his senses. Sweat drenched his skin and his body was contorting, contracting into itself as he pushed back the urges that were trying to consume him.

After what felt like forever, he heard a voice. A voice telling him to breathe, just breathe. To focus on nothing else than drawing breath into his lungs and letting it back out. It was easier said than done, considering if felt like his lungs were on fire, but eventually it worked. Eventually his thoughts levelled out and the world seemed to just make sense again, without anyone getting hurt.

It was decided that day that Dr Hanata would take Kiyotaka on as her patient.

Life seemed to get easier. The first few weeks were mostly trying to teach Kiyotaka breathing exercises that would ground him to reality. The next few were to determine reasons that triggered him. The ones after that were to try to control the conversation away from those topics. Each new week brought new coping strategies and by week 20, Kiyotaka had gone an entire week with no episodes. And slowly but surely, the voice in his head became just that – a voice which he could ignore or interact with as he so pleased.

“Yo, Hall Monitor!”

Kioytaka looks up from the book that he was not really reading to meet the ice blue eyes of Leon Kuwata. The bruises under his eyes have started to fade, but he is still wearing the surgical tape. Nonetheless, he’s looking fairly unfazed about the whole situation. Something that Kiyotaka finds slightly unnerving.

“Yes, Kuwata?” he asks, trying to drag his gaze away from the injury. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to take you to your session, dude.”

Kiyotaka can feel his brow furrow in confusion. Surely not. Time hasn’t gone _that_ fast, has it? He turns to look at the library clock…

“It’s 4.45.”

He can hear the annoyance in the redhead’s voice and feels a pang of guilt. It’s not that he doesn’t trust the boy. It’s just that…

_You don’t fucking trust him. Deal with it._

“I am sorry, Kuwata,” he says, ignoring the mocking in his head. “I did not expect time to pass so quickly.”

“Sure, whatever. Let’s go, yeah?”

The walk is silent. He’s glad. He doesn’t have the social skills to initiate a casual conversation with most people, let alone someone as popular as Kuwata. His brain works in the world of studies, of numbers and graphs and statistics. But other people, _normal_ people, don’t think like that. He knows that if he tried asking how school life was going for him, he’d end up rolling his eyes or worse. So he’d rather just accept that he’s not like the other kids and walk in awkward silence.

Kiyotaka turns the corner to head to the headmaster’s office and suddenly notices that he’s not been followed. Has Kuwata forgotten where he’s meant to be going? He backtracks and sees Kuwata waiting for him further down the hall. He doesn’t need to ask the question, because the baseball player is already answering him.

“Gotta go get Mondo.”

It’s been three days since he’s seen the biker. He hasn’t shown up to classes, which isn’t exactly a new occurrence. In the couple of months since term started, Oowada had appeared in perhaps five lessons in total. His desperate attempts to convince him that his academic life is important and that he should really start applying himself more only fell on deaf ears. He was greeted with unacceptable language some days, or on good days, he was just ignored.

He feels guilty that he hasn’t made more of an effort in the last three days for his classmate. But he really didn’t want to have any reason to speak to him. As selfish as it is, he’s quite enjoyed the lack of responsibility for the delinquent. Especially given the ultimatum that the headmaster imposed on the two boys.

Joint therapy. Something that Kiyotaka has never experienced, and he’s experienced quite a lot. Anger management, hypnosis, cognitive behaviour therapy…the list goes on. But sitting in a room with someone other than his father is something completely foreign to him. How will he be able to concentrate when someone like Oowada is there?

It wouldn’t have ever occurred to him that Oowada would be in therapy, especially that he was seeing the same therapist as he was. He knew the boy had anger management issues, but he also has an ego that Kiyotaka honestly believed would get in the way of ever trying to better himself. Always barking about being ‘strong’ and ‘a real man’ and how any form of emotion apart from anger is for ‘pussies’. It’s hard enough for doctors to cope with Kiyotaka so how on _earth_ can they work with someone as totally uncooperative as _Mondo Oowada_?

_This is going to be_ awful, he thinks to himself as Kuwata knocks on the biker’s door. _A complete and utter disaster_. He can’t even begin to fathom how this is supposed to help him, but it was that or expulsion. And that isn’t an option.

The door flies open and Oowada is stood there. The anger is already etched on his face and the session hasn’t even started yet. _That bodes well_ , he thinks to himself as he tries to keep his face from showing his annoyance. Sadly, he’s always been an open book and Oowada has already spotted him.

“The fuck d’ya want?” he growls, moving his glare over to Kuwata.

“Hey buddy!” Kuwata sings with a grin. “Time to go!”

“Fuck off.”

And the door is closed. Kiyotaka winces and glances at the redhead, hoping that he’ll know what to do in this situation. He daren’t get involved and knows that the only way this will go well is if Oowada’s friend convinces him. Sure enough, Kuwata is knocking on the door again.

“Stop being a dick, Mondo!” he shouts through the door.

“I told ya to fuck off, Leon!”

“Dude, d’you _want_ to get expelled?!”

There’s a pause before the door opens again. The expression on the biker’s face hasn’t changed and it doesn’t seem like he’s planning on moving. But the fact that his door is open again means that there’s a chance. And that, it seems, is the only chance they’ve got.

“Why the fuck d’ya bring _him_ for?” Oowada snarls, daggers flying from his eyes towards Kiyotaka. The familiar bubble of rage tickles his stomach. _Breathe, Kiyotaka. Concentrate on your breathing…_

“Didn’t really have a choice, dude.”

“Ya coulda come got me separately.”

“You think I want to do two trips? Fuck that, man.”

The silence seems like it lasts forever as the hall monitor and the biker stare each other down. The clock is ticking and at this rate, they’ll both be late to their very first session. Kiyotaka knows that if he looks away then Oowada will take it as a sign of weakness. That is probably the only way any progress will be made and they can finally get this over and done with…

_Fuck that shit, man! Show this bastard who’s boss!_

Kiyotaka swallows the words that gather in his throat. He clenches his fists at his sides, locking his elbows to make sure that they don’t move on their own accord. But in some internal compromise, he keeps his eyes focused intensely on the other boy. He’s stronger than Oowada thinks. He won’t let himself crumble in front of him, even it’s probably the best decision.

“Yeah…” he hears Kuwata say, catching the awkwardness in his voice. “This is fun and all. But you guys need to…”

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere with this asshole.”

_Take him out!_

It takes every ounce of Kiyotaka’s strength not to punch him in the face. His body is screaming at him, begging him to just do it. He can feel how hard his nails are digging into his palm, but he holds back. He promised himself that he would get better and he’s already failed once. He won’t fail again. Not because of Oowada.

“Mondo, seriously…”

The door is closing again, but in slow motion. At least, that’s what it feels like. The world is swimming and his vision is blurry and the fire in his belly is white hot. He’s breathing but the air feels like sludge in his lungs. His body hurts so much by how tense he’s holding himself just to try and fight back against everything he wants to do. But he mustn’t do it. He has to keep control. He has to keep his promise to himself…

_Come on! Fucking do something!_

He can feel himself loosen, letting go of the responsibility. He can feel his lips curl into the smirk that doesn’t belong on his face. The door is still moving. He’s got time to stop this. It’ll all be alright, he’ll get through this, he’s not going to hurt anyone but _he’s going to end Oowada…_

_Do it!_

His body is moving on its own. Kuwata no longer stands in front of the door; he’s there instead. The door that was closing slams open with a crack. He can feel a tingling in his foot but that’s unimportant. What matters is that _fucking beautiful_ expression on the biker’s face that’s filling up his vision. He doesn’t care if it’s fear or anger. He plans to smash it against the concrete under his feet.

“He told you to move, Oowada.”

His words come out calm in contrast to the wildness in his eyes. He knows from experience that this is something that can have a devastating effect to those that are already caught off guard. He _fucking loves_ that he has that power and has learnt to perfect it every time he’s allowed to.

“Y-yo, Ishimaru,” Kuwata stammers next to him. “You’re not allowed to do this…”

_Unimportant_. Oowada hasn’t moved, hasn’t risen to his bait. That’s his aim, after all. He tilts his head slowly, feeling the bones click in a totally overly-dramatic manner. And still _nothing_. _Push harder…_

“You scared?” he sneers and _finally_ gets a response. Oowada’s jaw sets like stone and he’s shaking. _That’s right..._

“The fuck ya say?” he hisses, the veins in his forehead bulging dangerously.

“Poor Oowada,” Kiyotaka drawls out, grinning manically. “So scared of someone as _weak_ as an Ishimaru; a pathetic, disgusting _nobody_. That’s what you think of me, right? You think that there’s no way that someone as _strong_ as you could possibly be bested by someone like _me_. _Right_?” _Just a little more…_

“Shit…Ishimaru, breathe…”

“I could crush your skull in a second,” the hall monitor laughs, taking a step into the room. “Everyone would know that a filthy _Ishimaru_ took down the Ultimate fucking Gang Leader. And you’d go down in history as a fucking _loser_ who couldn’t even stand up to a fucking _hall monitor_.”

“Listen to me, Ishimaru. I told you to breathe…”

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you.”

The words come out of Oowada’s mouth so quietly that Kiyotaka barely heard them. They’re like music to his ears, the perfect accompaniment to the concert playing out in front of him. Everything is going exactly as he orchestrated and he’s lapping up every drop. And now for the grand finale.

“I dare you to try.”

“ _Mondo, no_!”

He feels his body jerk backwards without his consent as Oowada’s fingers graze his throat. There’s a flurry of colours and curses, incoherent words booming around him, his own insanity ringing in his ears as he’s pulled in some kind of direction. And then suddenly he’s flat on the floor and there’s a strange pressure on his chest. He blinks through the confusion to see Kuwata there, pinning his hands either side of his head. _What the fuck is this_?!

“Ishimaru, I swear to fucking _God_ ,” he snaps, eyes boring into his skull. “If you don’t cool the fuck down, I’ll let him knock you the fuck out. _Now_ _fucking breathe_!”

As he tries to focus on the redhead above him, his vision starts swimming. Words merge into one as he falls back into himself, gasping desperately as though he’s forgotten how to breathe. His hands can suddenly move and are allowed to reach out. He feels cotton, skin that’s not his own. And when he’s finally grounded, he can see the relief in Kuwata’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes, letting his fingers wring pathetically in the front of the other boy’s t-shirt.

“You back?” He feels his head nod violently and then a sigh puffs over his face. “Thank fuck…”

“O-Oowada…” he forces out, not quite sure what it is he wants to say.

“Gone ahead.”

“W-what…”

“I dragged you away from him and legged it down the hall. He chased us for a bit but I kept telling him to go to the session otherwise he’d get in trouble. Didn’t think it would work, if I’m honest…”

Now that Kiyotaka can focus again, he can hear the ragged breathing of the other boy. He can see the sweat that gathers on his forehead, feel how hard his heart is beating against his palm. _What on earth happened_? He tries to go back through his memories of the last few minutes, push through the red mist that coats the images in his head, but he can’t quite manage it. The fragments scattered in his mind, the pieces not quite fitting together. He knows they’ll come back, but it’s never fast enough.

“I’m gonna let you go now, okay?”

Kiyotaka feels himself nodding and the weight on his chest is gone. His hands untangle from the material on Kuwata’s chest and flop onto his own. He’s exhausted, as he always is when this happens, and he lets his eyes flutter closed. He’s gotten better at not passing out entirely, despite what happened the other night, but he still needs to keep his eyes shut just for a little bit. Just until the worst of it passes…

“What happened, man?”

He creaks his eyes open again to look at the baseball star. He’s sat against the wall, staring at him with eyes he just can’t read. _This is the second time he’s seen this_ , he thinks to himself. _The second time I’ve let this happen in front of someone else_. He tries to find the words to answer his question, but there aren’t any. None that won’t make him look any worse than he already does.

“I mean, shit. You looked like a completely different person.”

He’s never really thought about what he looks like when he loses it. He supposes it makes sense, to be told that he looks so vastly different. He knows he _feels_ different, that his body holds itself in another way. A way that he can’t emulate when he feels like himself. He knows that moving feels easier, more fluid, and that he barely thinks about the words that form in his mouth. But he’d never really considered what that meant to an onlooker. And he’s totally honest with himself, he feels…

_Free_.

He realises that he can’t answer the redhead. Or rather, he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t feel like divulging these things to a person that barely even tolerates him. So instead, he pushes himself up into a sitting position. He wants to straighten his back, to find some composure again. But he doesn’t think there’s any point right now and so he doesn’t even try.

“Why did you help me?”

The words are out of his mouth without him thinking. They catch the other boy off guard as well; his eyes widening in shock at the accusatory tone that Kiyotaka really didn’t mean. Or did he? Kuwata is a popular person, after all. Why didn’t he just let Oowada beat him up? All the other bullies he’d encountered in his life worked in packs, so why didn’t Kuwata follow suit?

“You really have no fucking clue, do you?”

“What is that supposed to…”

“Look, man,” Kuwata says seriously, locking eyes with the hall monitor. “I didn’t want to get involved in this shit. Both you guys have some _serious_ issues that have nothing to do with me. But when Mondo told me that you guys had to have some kind of ‘peer-mentor’ thing, I knew I had no choice but to do it. Because I’m the only one that has seen the look in your eye when you go off on one. Apart from him, I’m the only other one that knows what you’re capable of. And like _fuck_ am I letting anyone else in our class deal with that.”

The truth in the boy’s eyes is blinding. Kiyotaka isn’t sure whether he should be offended or grateful at his honesty, but he’s certainly leaning towards grateful. He’s never heard someone say it out loud before. His father avoids the conversation, the young boy at school never spoke to him again and Dr Hanata never thought it was an important detail. So for it to be Leon Kuwata, of all people, that finally tells him straight…

“And I’m not saying that Mondo isn’t to blame in all this,” he continues. “He went to knock you out first after all. Even if you were being a hardass and everything, he didn’t need to do what he did. You didn’t deserve that. He’s cool and all, but even I know he’s got a screw loose or something. So don’t go thinking I’m a dick that only thinks about his friends, yeah?”

“Alright.”

“I’m not letting either of you do something fucking stupid on my watch. So, whether we like it or not, I’m in for the long run. You got a session? I’ll drag your ass there even if you’re sick. You got homework or something like that? I’ll be there to make sure you do it. You piss each other off? I’ll be all over your asses and reporting back to the Doc.”

“Alright.”

“If you got a problem with him, or me, or anything, you tell me. You don’t go all American Psycho, right? You come and you find me and I will make sure that you don’t do something dumb. You got that?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Good.” He stands up, brushing imaginary dust off his legs and holds out his hand. “Let’s go then. You’re late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for all the comments and kudos. You guys are really sweet, really wasn't expecting it! Of course, comments and feedback really make my day, so don't feel shy. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! ^_^


	5. Chapter 4

“This is bullshit.”

The words that leave Oowada’s lips grate on Kiyotaka’s nerves. He’s amazed that he’s managed to last this long in the same room as him, especially given what happened not twenty minutes ago.

It took a lot of courage for Kiyotaka to make his way to the session. Kuwata was right; they were late. By exactly five minutes. It pained him to know that he’d let himself lose control so much that it affected not only himself, but that he’d wasted Dr Hanata’s precious time as well. And it certainly didn’t help when he caught the look in Oowada’s eyes as he walked in.

He’s almost grateful that Dr Hanata asked the redhead to stay. The boy has already managed to keep him out of trouble once, and has promised to continue doing so. Having him around when he has to deal so directly with the biker definitely makes this slightly more bearable. He wouldn’t call the boy a friend, but Kuwata’s presence makes him feel somewhat more relaxed.

Kiyotaka has never had any friends. A fact that would come as no surprise to anyone that he told, he suspects. The name ‘Ishimaru’ is one that everyone knows; child and adult alike. And if there’s anything to be known about the Ishimaru family is that they’re a disgrace and not to be trusted.

Beyond that, though, Kiyotaka simply isn’t likeable. He _knows_ this. He knows that forcing out an overly enthusiastic attitude is something that has never helped his cause. But it’s the only thing he knows how to do. Keeping the promise to his father is the most important thing in the world; it would be disastrous if he let himself relax in public. So to keep his true self at bay, he’s become this person that is truly unlikable.

He’s terribly competitive as well. A trait of his that he teeters between liking and hating. If he wasn’t competitive, he would never have made it into Hope’s Peak Academy. He prides himself at his dedication to his studies and that he managed to be the top student at his school, despite his difficulties. No one, no matter how much they dislike him, can tell him that he does not deserve to be here.

However, Kiyotaka’s entire identity is as a student. And to be the best student, one must study as often as possible. So that’s all he’s ever done. Even if anyone had wanted to spend time with him, he would have declined. He would have scorned them for not taking their school life seriously and urged them to be more like him. Even he knew that no sane person would want to waste their time with someone like that.

Most of the time, having no friends meant nothing to him. His goals are far more important than anything as fickle as friendship, that’s what he keeps telling himself. Clearing his family name was something that Kiyotaka would give up everything to achieve. To see his father smile again, he would do _anything_. And having friends would have gotten in the way of that. That’s how he feels.

Most of the time, anyway.

There are days where being alone is terribly…well, _lonely_. He knows that there is a hole in his heart that he could never fill with books and numbers. He would see he classmates hand out birthday cards, Valentine’s chocolates and love letters while he simply watched from afar and the hole in his heart would ache, longing for the missing piece. The only time he ever received a love letter ended up as a cruel joke that set his emotions haywire. The entire class, teacher included, learned that day that Kiyotaka Ishimaru knew words that no child his age should know. And all he was left with was the bitter knowledge that he would _never_ be like them.

At the end of the day, Kiyotaka is a human being. He has feelings, no matter how much he tries to shut them down. He would be lying if he said that he didn’t long for someone to take care of him and to have his back, thick or thin. He can’t deny the jealousy he feels when he remembers that he’s the only one in the world without someone to call a friend. He’s seen happiness all his life yet never truly felt it. Would it really be so bad for him, _just once_ , to be selfish and feel happy?

Is that why he feels so relieved at the thought of Kuwata being here? Is he the closest to a friend that he’s had? He made offers to help Kiyotaka if he was in trouble. That he would do his best to help him work through his issues. Yes, he doesn’t want to be here when it all boils down to it. But _Kuwata’s_ the one that forced him off the ground and into this room. _Kuwata’s_ the one that apologised to Dr Hanata for his lateness. _Kuwata’s_ the one that’s sat in in the room with him and Oowada right now. Isn’t that what _friends_ do?

_You’re fucking desperate, you know that?_

Kiyotaka looks over at the redhead. He’s sat at one end of the table, trying to talk down the uncooperative biker. He acts totally different around Oowada. He smiles at him, calls him names that Kiyotaka would consider insults and yet the other boy seems not to mind. They laugh and joke together, break the rules together, _have fun_ together…

Yes, _that’s_ what friendship is. Not the strained agreement between himself and Kuwata. It’s ridiculous to think for a second that someone like Kuwata would actually want to be a friend. But that doesn’t stop the unpleasant sting of jealousy in the empty space of his chest.

“Even Ishimaru is going to do it. Aren’t ya?”

Kiyotaka blinks out of his thoughts and tries to figure out what he’s been asked. _Let’s go back through what happened_ , he thinks. The session started, Dr Hanata explained the rules of the joint therapy and now they’re playing a game. Much to Oowada’s disdain, of course. Kiyotaka thinks it’s because it looks like a children’s game. It probably _is_ a children’s game. But he knows from experience that things like this can be effective for all age ranges…

“’Course the hardass’ll do it,” Oowada growls before Kiyotaka can formulate the response. “He does whatever he’s told to do.”

“Now Mondo…”

It’s strange to hear Dr Hanata speak to the biker so informally. He’s heard his classmates call the boy by his given name, but never an adult. Of course, he knows that she also speaks the same way to him. He was mortified at first, of course, and insisted that she not trouble herself with something like that. But she in return had insisted on calling him Kiyotaka as ‘it felt more natural’.

It had taken months for Kiyotaka to stop flinching at the sound of his first name. Most people refer to him as ‘Ishimaru’ if he was lucky or else some form of insult. ‘Hardass’ was a popular one and surprisingly the least hurtful. But it was when people called him by his first name that Kiyotaka worried the most. The name was always laced with spite and usually came with some form of ulterior motive. So to hear someone use it without wanting something from him, or in a vicious attempt to hurt him, was something that took some getting used to.

“But it’s fuckin’ true!”

“You know the conditions of this, Mondo. You must make an effort to get along with Kiyotaka.”

“Fine, whatever but c’mon, Doc! Why do we have to play some shitty kid game?”

“I’ve already explained the reason, Mondo.”

“I already know who he is! I don’t need to fuckin’ introduce myself again!”

“It’s a clean slate, Mondo. Leon and I will be joining in as well, so there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“ _I’m not fuckin’ ashamed!_ ”

Kiyotaka hasn’t known Oowada for very long, but he’s learnt fast that the idea of being weak is something completely intolerable to the other boy. He will never admit to being upset, or embarrassed, or hurt, or anything that isn’t a variation of ‘strong’. It’s like an unhealthy obsession, something that has completely taken over any kind of personality that could exist. It could almost be described as a weakness in itself…

_Exploit it._

The words echo in his mind as he watches the anger flare on the biker’s face. No. It would be wrong to use something like that against someone else. He’s used to his grandfather being used as a weapon against him and knows how little he thinks of people that do these kinds of thing. Besides it’s only a theory, after all.

_But it’s a fucking good theory. And one that would hurt._

_Exactly_ , he thinks to himself. It would _really_ hurt the biker if his reputation was at all questioned. It would be an unnecessary low blow. No matter how much they hate each other, he can find no good reason to stoop to that level. He’s better than that!

_Well, I’m not_.

“Pussy.”

His hand isn’t quick enough to catch the word before it bursts out of him at an unacceptable volume. He can feel the blood draining from his face as all eyes land on him, the cold sweat trickling down the back of his neck at the look on Oowada’s face as he leans forward menacingly. If looks could kill, Kiyotaka would be a dead man right now. But there’s a small, unwelcome feeling of satisfaction at response he’s gotten and he hates himself for feeling that way.

“The fuck did ya call me?!”

“N-nothing!”

_Say it again._

“Ya callin’ me a pussy?!”

“N-no!”

_Say it again!_

“Then what the _fuck_ did ya call me?!”

“Nothing!”

There’s a terrible silence as everyone in the room waits to see what will happen. The screaming in Kiyotaka’s mind is unbearable, egging him on to push harder, but he’s keeping his body as tense as possible to stop any more unwelcome insults from flying out his mouth. The last thing anyone needs is for Oowada to fly off the handle in a confined space because someone like _him_ has pushed his buttons. _Breathe_ , he thinks to himself. _If I breathe, this will all be okay…_

And thankfully, Oowada’s body relaxes slightly. Kiyotaka feels his own relax in response, grateful that he’s managed to prevent a disaster. _There’s already enough for one day_ , he thinks. He doesn’t take his eyes off the biker as he settles back against the chair he’s sat in, waiting for the coast to be well and truly clear. It doesn’t take too long before there’s a smug smirk on the other boy’s face.

“That’s right,” he sneers. “Just remember who yer speakin’ to next time. And treat me with fuckin’ respect. Got it, asshole?”

“Hard to respect someone who’s guts are hung up with his balls.”

Kiyotaka barely has time to register the words that leave his lips before he’s scrambling backwards off his chair and out of the way of the biker, who’s launched himself over the table with an almighty roar. Even though he can hear the maniacal laughter in his mind, his body is too overcome by fear to respond to it. He falls flat on his back and pushes himself backward, his emotions flying out of him in less-than-dignified screams at the sight of the hatred in Oowada’s eyes. And he knows that the only reason he’s not a bloody mess on the floor is because Kuwata’s pinned Oowada down against the table and Dr Hanata is knelt down in front of the boy’s face to try distract him.

“Stop it, Mondo!”

“Let me at him!” Oowada’s voice cracks with anger, his gaze never leaving Kiyotaka’s. “Let me fuckin’ at him!”

“You need to calm down right now.”

“I’ll fuckin’ _end_ the bastard!”

“Mondo, _calm down_!”

Kiyotaka has pushed himself all the way to the other side of the room, his feet still pushing him backwards even though there’s nowhere to go. His vision is going fuzzy and his heart is beating so fast, and everything has gone so _terribly wrong_. Why did he ever think this would work? Why did he ever think that someone had his best interests at heart? _Why did he ever think that he would ever get better?!_

He can’t breathe. His chest has seized up, blocking his airways. It feels like he’s on fire, burning hot, drowning in a fever that he didn’t know he had. He clutches at his throat, clawing at the skin in desperation. But it doesn’t ease. Nothing is helping. _I’m going to die…_

_Hey…are you okay?_

Something is grabbing him, pulling his hands away, but he can’t see through the panic. _He’s in danger_. He cries out, batting away whatever it is in front of him. But it doesn’t stop. It just keeps grabbing, and pulling, and hurting, and _oh God what’s going on?!_

_Let me help_.

“No!” he screams out, launching himself forward with a strength he didn’t know he possessed. But he doesn’t move, his hands pinned to the ground. He tries to kick his legs but there’s a heavy weight them. _Danger, get away, danger, get away…_

“Ishimaru…”

_Let me help!_

“No!”

“Ishimaru, look at me!”

_Just let me fucking help! I can help! Let me take over and I can…_

“ _No!_ ”

“Kiyotaka, _look at me_!”

Ice blue and fire red cut through the hysteria. A new feeling takes hold, washing over him and enveloping him like a blanket. He can feel the air in his lungs again, cool and crisp as he gulps it in desperately. His body is relaxing, sinking in to the familiarity of the eyes in front of him. And all at once, it’s like nothing ever happened.

“Leon.”

A part of him is disgusted at how pitiful he sounds as well as the audacity of calling him by his first name. The other part, however, seems to have other ideas. He feels his hands move on their own accord, grasping onto the redhead’s shirt. Just like he did earlier. And the comfort the action brings is beyond anything Kiyotaka has ever felt. _This is what it would feel like to have a friend_ , he thinks sadly to himself as he wonders when he will be scalded for such brazen behaviour.

“Yeah. It’s Leon.”

As Kiyotaka searches the face in front of him for the hint of malice, he finds none. And his mind trawls through the events of the last few minutes. Why was the baseball star the one comforting him? Why wasn’t it his therapist, the one that was _paid_ to do this sort of thing? Why would this boy _choose_ to help him over…

Kiyotaka’s eyes dart back over to the table as his heartrate increases again. He spots Dr Hanata a few feet away from him, knelt on the floor with the look that she always used to have after he came out from an episode. He doesn’t need to look too much further before he spots Oowada sat next to her. His expression is unreadable, but it certainly doesn’t look angry anymore. If he had to guess, he would say it’s something that looks like _guilt_ …

“Eyes on me, Kiyotaka.”

He does as he’s told, locking eyes once again with the boy in front of him. Almost instantly, the panic that was creeping back in dissolves into a warm, reassuring sensation. Even though he knows that Kuwata doesn’t trust him, the feeling isn’t mutual. Twice in one day, Kuwata has managed to push back the emotions that overwhelmed him. So although his eyes scan Kiyotaka’s face for any sign of danger, the hall monitor has never felt safer than he does right now.

“You think he’s good now, Doc?”

“Yes, Leon. He’ll be alright now. Let’s get back to the table.”

Kiyotaka allows his fingers to loosen in the cotton of Kuwata’s shirt and the boy stands up. His knees feel like jelly as he allows himself to be hoisted from his position against the wall. As the two make their way back to where the whole thing started, he sees Oowada follows suit. A jolt of fear runs through him and before he can stop himself, he’s grabbed onto Kuwata’s shirt for comfort. As blue eyes full of shock meet his own, Kiyotaka rips his hand away as if he’s been burned.

“I’m sorry,” he squeaks, hoping he doesn’t sound quite as pathetic as he feels.

It takes a couple of minutes for them to settle back down. He notices that the seating order has changed since last time. Instead of them all being on a side of the table each, there’s now two of them per side. Oowada and Dr Hanata on one side, Kuwata and himself on the other. He isn’t sure if this was a conscious effort, but he can’t help but feel better with this new arrangement.

“Right,” Dr Hanata sighs heavily. “We need to get a few things straight.”

Kiyotaka flinches, eyes flicking over to Oowada. There’s something different about him that he can’t put his finger on. He _has_ noticed that the biker is actively avoiding looking in his direction, but that isn’t what it is. There’s an air about him that just feels a little off. Something that feels familiar, but what that is avoids his grasp.

“What I had hoped to achieve today was for you both to see that you have things in common,” she continues. “You _both_ came to me because of anger issues and the unhealthy ways that you deal with them. You _both_ dislike how angry you can become and the repercussions of what happens when you lose your temper. And you _both_ want to become a better version of yourself and learn to manage your anger in a more productive way. And I had hoped that if we started off slowly with an icebreaker that you would feel more comfortable opening up to each other.”

“No offence, Doc, but that was a bad call.”

“Yes _thank you_ , Leon.”

“Sorry.”

“I hadn’t quite anticipated quite how volatile you both have become in the few weeks of my absence. You were both adamant that you would no longer need my help once you started in high school and, against my better judgement, I agreed to allow you to try. You may well have been perfectly fine without me if you hadn’t ended up in the same school together. I must admit that I’ve never experienced two patients ending up interacting so closely. With such big personalities, it’s no wonder that you’ve clashed and that everything I’ve taught you has been thrown out the window.”

The silence that follows is heavy. The guilt in the pit of Kiyotaka’s stomach spreads further and his eyes drop to the table in front of him. She’s right. All the techniques that they spent so long mastering together are almost redundant now and all because of one boy that he just cannot get along with. He’s worked so hard to deal with people like Oowada but, at the end of the day, he’s just weak. Just like everyone has always told him.

“I’m not going to let our first session be a failure. You are going to go away with _something_ positive. So we are going to talk about what happened.” Dr Hanata’s eyes land on the biker. “Mondo, how are you feeling right now.”

“Shitty.”

“Okay. Kiyotaka, how are _you_ feeling right now?”

“Terrible.”

“So you both feel the same way. Good. Now, let’s review the facts. Mondo was irritated about playing the icebreaker game and Kiyotaka antagonised him. Can we all agree on that?”

He doesn’t want to agree with it, but Kiyotaka can’t help but nod his head. It’s _exactly_ what happened. The words had come out of his mouth, even if he didn’t want them to. Antagonise is the exact word to describe the intent those words had had, even if it wasn’t a conscious decision.

“Mondo then lost his temper and Kiyotaka became…upset. Can we agree on that?”

‘Upset’ wasn’t really the word to describe what he had felt, but it was easier to agree with that than try to understand why he had gotten so frightened. He isn’t sure why he didn’t respond the way he has done before when Oowada went to hit him. He could hear the words in his head, feel the need that claws at him so often. But it was overridden by cold fear and before he knew it, he had lost control in a whole new, _terrifying_ way.

“Mondo, I want you to apologise to Kiyotaka.”

“Ngh…”

“Do it, Mondo.”

“Fine. Sorry.”

“About what, Mondo?”

“Sorry that I made him freak out and shit. Wasn’t cool to see him like that. So sorry.”

“Kiyotaka, I want you to apologise to Mondo.”

“I’m sorry.”

“About what, Kiyotaka?”

He lifts his eyes to look at Oowada and opens his mouth to carry on, but then the other boy lifts his own. The look on his face makes it feel like his throat has constricted. His mouth feels full of razors as he tries to form sentences, the words rattling around his brain like pebbles. The panic is setting in again, all because of _that look_ on the biker’s face. _Breathe…breathe…please breathe…_

He feels his fingers press against something soft and it makes him pull his eyes away. When they land on his fingers, he notices that they’re back on Kuwata’s chest, right against his heart. He can feel the rhythmic thumping against his fingertips and he finds himself mentally counting the beats to create a pattern. A coping method that Dr Hanata taught him once upon a time, one that is succeeding in loosen the pressure in his throat.

He brings his eyes up to meet Kuwata’s, a silent apology already forming in his mind. But what he sees isn’t what he expects. He’s expecting disgust, anger and fear. But what he sees borders more along the lines of reassurance, kindness and worry. And it’s then that he realises that the other boy is holding his hand in place.

“It helps, right?” Kiyotaka feels his fingers curl into the material of Kuwata’s shirt as he nods. “Okay cool. Keep hold as long as you need.”

For the first time, he finds himself longing for an explanation from the voice he’s tried to repress. _What is this feeling_ , he asks. _Why is he doing this for me? What have I done to deserve this…this kindness?_

And for the first time, he finds silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for continuing to read! I didn't think anyone would read, if I'm honest...There's so many talented people on here that I thought my words would fade into the background. But you guys are just so kind. 56 kudos for only 4 chapters is incredible and all your words are just amazing and keep me going.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Took a little longer than normal to write - this was the chapter I was dreading the most. But it took a life of its own and ended up here. Hope it doesn't disappoint!
> 
> Much love guys x


	6. Chapter 5

Kiyotaka wakes, once again drenched in cold sweat. His heart is racing against his fingers as he clutches his pyjama shirt, searching the darkness for the frightened little boy in his dream. But he’s not there. He’s never there. He will always be left behind.

“Sigma,” he whispers out loud, if only to distract himself from the boy’s screams that linger in his ears. A part of him silently hoping that he’ll appear in front of him.

Kiyotaka has never known what his dreams meant. He doesn’t even know when they started. They’ve always been there, always the same scene over and over like a broken record. Two small boys running through the wood, holding onto each other’s hands for dear life as they run. Run as fast as their legs will let them to get away from those eyes.

It’s occurred to him more than once that if he was asked to describe both Sigma and the woman, he couldn’t do it. The only thing that stands out are the eyes of the woman, but even then he couldn’t tell you what colour they are. Only that they haunt him even when he wakes up. And Sigma…he’s even more of a mystery.

He wondered if it was a scene from a film that he once watched. He used to try and sneak in on his mother when she was watching films while he pretended he was asleep. It was the only time she got any time to herself and her hobby was to watch films. There were nights where he was happy to lie in bed and listen to her laughter, let it soothe him to sleep. But most nights he would be convinced to get out of bed and go find her. Creep as quietly as he could down and sit halfway down the stairs to watch the colours flicker across her face and wonder why on earth he wasn’t more like her.

If you were to look at Kiyotaka in comparison to his parents, there would be no doubt that he is his father’s son. They are both striking in the most unappealing way. Their lines are sharp, harsh, which matches their personalities down to a tee. The hair on his head is almost as if someone directly transplanted his father’s under his scalp, the only difference now is the aging process. They both have a sombre aura that contributes to their lack of a sense of humour; a trait commonly unseen by the naked eye. But one look at both of the Ishimaru men will let you know not to waste your breath on trying to make them laugh.

The one thing that Kiyotaka inherited from his mother was colour of his eyes. She would always call him her ruby eyed angel; a term that he has never fully accepted as true. _She_ was the angel, after all. That’s what he’s always heard his father say to her photograph on nights he’d snuck down the stairs after hearing his voice. Besides, angels are good. And he is… _troubled_.

But her eyes were Kiyotaka’s favourite part of his mother. For the longest time, it was the only thing that he liked about himself. He had hoped that people saw the kindness in his eyes that they found when they looked at his mother. He’s heard the term ‘the eyes are window to the soul’ before and also was told that it was entirely true about his mother. One look from her and you could tell exactly what she was thinking, that’s what people said. So he had no doubt in his mind that, as she looked into the eyes she said she loved so much, the words she told him were ones that were true. That she wasn’t mistaken and that maybe one day he really would be an angel.

It was about a year after she passed away that he realised that his mother was wrong. He isn’t sure what possessed him to study his appearance in the mirror. Perhaps it was the cruel taunting of the children that day at school. Perhaps it was the fact that he’d seen her favourite flowers on the walk home. Or maybe it was that he caught the faintest scent of her perfume as he’d walked past his parent’s bedroom. But that’s where he found himself. Cradling the only picture of his mother that his father had left out against his chest, trying to see what it was that she saw when she looked into his eyes.

But all he had found was disappointment.

Kiyotaka feels the tears on his cheeks and quickly wipes them away. He doesn’t like to remember his mother too much anymore because this is exactly what happens. He remembers just how little any of her legacy lives on within him. The only thing he had was her eyes and even that was a lie. She called them rubies; glittering and precious. He calls them blood drops; violent and hateful. Just like the feeling he gets from…

He shakes his head, trying not to let his mind retreat back into that thought. Once he’s awake, he tries his hardest not to think about what plagues his dreams. And given how the last few days have gone, he needs to keep his focus fully on his treatment.

The clock tells him that he is up far too early once again and that he’s only managed a measly four hours rest. He knows that he still has plenty of time to sleep but he also knows that the process of falling back asleep will, as always, be the problem. He shudders at the thought of the last time he was awake so early, grateful that every time since has been only an hour before he was due to wake up and has easily found activities to distract himself.

It’s then that he realises that his fingers are still curled into the soft material on his chest. His mind flickers back, trying to conjure up the feeling that engulfed him when they were resting against Kuwata’s chest. But no matter how hard he tries, the cotton in his grip offers not even a trace of the comfort he found.

He hasn’t spoken to the boy for a couple of days. The weekend crept up without warning, after all. He’s kept himself busy, trying to catch up on the studies that he knows he hasn’t really fallen behind with. It’s just an excuse he’s learnt to throw around to keep himself on the top of his game. Some days, he believes his words. Today is not one of those days.

He finds himself wondering if he would be bothering the redhead if he showed up at his door and stops the thoughts in their tracks. _Of course you will bother him_ , he tells himself. _He’s probably fast asleep and if you show up without warning, he will just end up pushing him away_. He knows he’s probably right, but still feels his eyes moving to the door.

He expects the familiar sound he gets anytime there’s even the hint of rebellion, but is surprised at the silence. He hasn’t had any kind of… _thoughts_ like that since his session. He’s even found himself searching for it, trying to lure it out with wild ideas of his own. _Let’s run in the halls, let’s say a bad word, let’s not do homework tonight_. And all he’s been met with is an unnerving absence.

He doesn’t like to admit it, but Kiyotaka wishes that it was still there. He’s heard the voice for as long as he knows. It’s a part of him with which he’s come to coexist. Mostly. Since starting his sessions with Dr Hanata, the voice has become more manageable; up until recently anyway. Despite missing it like a hole in his head, he finds himself missing it anyway.

Night time has never been so empty.

He finds that his feet have pushed their way into the slippers before he can truly admit to himself that he plans to leave the room. Kuwata’s words repeat in his head: _You come and you find me and I will make sure that you don’t do something dumb._ He isn’t sure what Kuwata would define as ‘dumb’, but Kiyotaka feels like sitting in a room with nothing but your own thoughts until morning would be _quite_ ridiculous.

It doesn’t take him long to get to Kuwata’s door. One minute, twenty two seconds. What takes him the longest is building the courage to even raise his hand. Six minutes, sixteen seconds. A long time to be stood in front of another person’s door, part hoping that whatever lured him here in the first place will be overridden by his own sense of logic. Only finally relenting once he realises that no amount of logic will save him this time.

The door opens astonishingly quickly and Kiyotaka supposes he shouldn’t be surprised that the boy is still awake. He remembers overhearing him speaking to his classmates about his late night routines, bringing up at any given opportunity just how _exhausting_ it is to be working on the lyrics to his ‘new song’ until the early hours of the morning. Kiyotaka has never heard anything that the redhead has written, and it seems the same is for everyone else in the world, and he feels a pang of guilt at the knowledge that he doesn’t believe that Kuwata is doing anything remotely close to working and the _real_ reason is to not get up in the morning to attend classes.

“Oh. Hey.”

The words sound just as surprised as Kiyotaka feels now that he’s eye to eye with his decision. What on _earth_ made him think that coming here was a good idea? Sure, he wants to feel…whatever it was that he felt the other day again, but that does _not_ mean Kuwata would offer it up freely again.

“Uh…you okay?”

“Ah!” Kiyotaka jumps at both the sound of the boy’s voice and also at the realisation that he was probably staring. “Err…Yes, thank you.”

“Okay…” The word is drawn out, confused. Kuwata’s head tilts to the side, brows furrowing. “So…what’s up?”

“I…I could not sleep.”

He wonders why he bothered answering honestly. Kuwata won’t care that he can’t sleep, after all. And even if he did, Kiyotaka would never admit to him that it’s because he was disturbed by a nightmare. The boy would probably laugh at him, spread the word to his other popular friends and then the world would have another reason to mock the already pathetic Kiyotaka Ishimaru.

“Oh. Okay.”

Kiyotaka wishes that the ground would swallow him whole. The silence is painful, weighing against him uncomfortably as he drops his gaze to the floor. His hands wring awkwardly against his stomach as they always do when he’s flustered, trying to conjure up anything, anything at all, to make this embarrassing moment disappear. But it drags on, too long, until Kiyotaka can no longer bear it.

“I-I am sorry I bothered you,” he mumbles pathetically, twisting his body to make the journey back to his room. At least there he can curl up in a ball against the floor and whine out the overwhelming sensation of shame into his palms.

“Whoa, wait up!” Fingers dig into his arm, the action shocking him and he looks back over his shoulder. “D-d’you wanna come in?”

The air is thick with the scent of aftershave, sweat and socks as he enters Kuwata’s room. The words of distaste at the sight of all the clothes littered on the floor bite at the tip of his tongue. His head hurts when he sees the school books shoved carelessly in a corner, a thick layer of dust covering the one on top. _This is disgusting_ , he thinks to himself as he notices empty chocolate wrappers and crisp packets scattered around the empty bin. It takes every ounce of Kiyotaka’s self-control not to do _anything_ more than just walk in. A guest should _never_ judge the host, after all.

“You wanna sit down, then?”

Kuwata is at his desk chair, leaning back precariously, motioning at the bed. Kiyotaka swallows his words of choice and simply nods. He wades his way through the mess and sits himself down on the very edge of the mattress. He notices that his fingers are still furiously twisting once he rests his hands against his legs and no matter how hard he tries to pull them apart, it’s as if they have a mind of their own.

More silence. He can hear the sound of a clock ticking somewhere in the room, but he dare not look anywhere but his knees. He can feel Kuwata’s gaze burning into him, unasked questions loom over him heavily, and all he can do is sit here. _Awkward doesn’t even cover it_ , he thinks miserably.

“So…how you doing, then?” Red eyes fly from their spot to meet blue. “You know…after the other day?”

“Ah…”

“Better?”

“Y-yes. Much better, thank you.”

Kuwata hums, nodding his head as he drops the seat back to a normal position. Kiyotaka can feel his shoulders relax at this, the urge to scald the boy easing ever so slightly.

“Good. Panic attacks suck, man.”

Kiyotaka blinks at him, dumbfounded. Panic attack? He’s heard of them before. His father often told him of the drug dealers that he’d caught succumbing to panic attacks when they knew it was all over. He was always told it was because they were ‘high as a kite’ and therefore associated the condition with those that took recreational narcotics. He wonders now if his father, who went through the details of each one thoroughly, was preparing him for the day that it would happen to him.

“Guessing it was your first one, huh?” Kiyotaka nods. “Shit. Sorry dude.”

“Have you had one before?”

He doesn’t expect the boy to answer such a personal question. But he does. With a small chuckle and a nod.

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“But you’re…”

The other boy looks at him expectantly, but the words dissolve in his throat. _Normal_. That’s what he was going to say. Leon Kuwata is a _normal_ teenage boy. He knows that he and Kuwata will never be on the same playing field in life, and he knows that Kuwata knows this too. But he also knows that feeding him any of ammunition to use against him would be fatal.

What he does instead is watch the boy’s expression change from confusion to something very different. It’s not angry; in fact, it’s far from it. Instead, it’s one that he’s only ever seen on his father’s face. A kind of sadness that shouldn’t look as comfortable on Kuwata’s face as it does.

“Yeah, okay,” the boy continues, voice softer than Kiyotaka has ever heard. “Makes sense you think like that.”

Kiyotaka feels his face flush with embarrassment as Kuwata’s gaze drops to the floor. Had his thoughts really been that transparent? He finds himself mentally berating himself for being such an open book before a new thought occurs to him. If Kuwata _really_ knew what he was thinking, why has he reacted in this way? Surely he would be laughing, teasing the hall monitor for giving away his insecurities so easily. But instead he looks melancholic, almost ashamed, and it’s this that makes Kiyotaka realise he may have misunderstood.

“W-what…”

“Things like that shouldn’t happen to people like me, huh?”

“P-people like you?”

“Bullies.”

One simple word. That’s all it takes. Just one simple word for Kiyotaka to re-evaluate everything he thinks about the boy in front of him.

Kiyotaka has met a lot of bullies in his life, more than his fair share, and has always thought of them as evil. No one should gang up on their target and push them to the point that they break. No one should ever treat someone differently, awfully, _cruelly_ , no matter how much pleasure they get out of it. No matter how many times Dr Hanata tried to explain to him why bullies do what they do, he never felt that he could sympathise with them because _they_ could never sympathise with _him_.

But _Kuwata_ seems to sympathise, and that is something that Kiyotaka can’t overlook.

“I do not think you are a bully.”

The redhead’s eyes rise from the floor once again and Kiyotaka swears that they’re shimmering slightly. He’s not seen this look on the boy’s face before. Kuwata acts like a fool most of the time, acting up to his reputation of being one of the popular boys, so it’s always hard to get a read on him. But this expression makes him look so much younger, innocent, and it feels…

It feels _real_. _This_ is the real Leon Kuwata. A boy who has panic attacks and looks after people without question. A boy who, under all the hair dye and body piercings and ‘bad-boy’ attitude, has insecurities just like anyone else. A boy that he could see as a friend, and who might feel the same way about him.

As Kiyotaka tries to find the words to say to break the silence, Kuwata coughs and shakes his head slightly. A grin plasters itself forcefully to his face and he’s leant back in the chair once again; the mask firmly in place. The moment, whatever it was, has passed and sitting in front of him is the teenage boy that Kuwata is _trying_ to be.

“So,” he starts confidently. “You finished your assignment from the Doc yet?”

Kiyotaka winces, knowing full well that the answer is no. He’s focused on every other piece of work instead of the small, basic task that Dr Hanata gave himself and the biker. He knows he’s got to put his all into his therapy and, being the person that he is, he never does anything half-hearted. But there is something about this particular question that he’s meant to answer that holds him back. Something that hits a little too close to home.

“You gotta do it, ya know.”

“Yes. I know.”

“It’s not a difficult question to answer.”

“No. The answer is quite simple.”

That was the entire problem. He knew the answer to the question as soon as it left Dr Hanata’s lips. But there’s a difference between _knowing_ something and _admitting_ it, writing the words down in black and white. He’s tried to push it back, tried not to remember, but it seems that the evening is not in a forgiving mood.

“So, why haven’t you done it yet?”

“Knowing the answer and writing it down are two very different things.”

Kuwata blinks at this, tilting his head in confusion. Discomfort seeps into Kiyotaka’s fingers once again and he feels the friction burn tingle his fingers. He’s not sure when, _or if_ , they have stopped whilst he’s been in the redhead’s room. What he does know is that the action is not in the slightest bit comforting, no matter how hard he tries to convince himself.

“Does that help?” It’s Kiyotaka’s turn to tilt his head in confusion at Kuwata’s words, even as the boy motions towards his lap with his chin. “The hand thing. You’ve not stopped since you’ve been here.”

“Ah.”

“An anxiety thing, right?”

“I…I suppose.”

“Does it help?”

“I…No. No, it does not help. Nothing helps.”

He’s lying. He knows what helps. It’s the whole reason he came here the first place, isn’t it? He wants to feel that rush of comfort, the warm, tingling sensation as his fingers dig into someone else’s shirt. Count the beats of another’s heart, drowning out the world that’s full of complications and upset and just focus on a pattern that makes sense. Pretend for _just a second_ that he isn’t alone.

Kuwata nods, his gaze unwavering. Kiyotaka knows he’s caught him out in his lie and it makes his skin itch, burn. He can feel himself squirm awkwardly, his neck tilting to rub against his shoulder in an attempt to get some relief. But the sensation continues, grows, and his hands are finally free to scratch against his arms. This only seems to make it worse and it moves inwards towards his chest.

His heart is pounding against his ribcage as he claws at his shirt. His lungs are starting to cease up, the air not seeming to go in as he inhales. _Please not now_. He tries to calm his thoughts, but they’re spinning out of control. The panic has set in and there’s no stopping it. His throat itches and his fingers follow. There’s no relief and now his vision is blurry and _he can’t breathe_ …

“No, no. Stay with me here.”

He’s back in the woods, clinging against the rocks before he’s falling into darkness, screaming soundlessly as the air is ripped from his lungs. Sigma’s there above him, reaching out, crying for him. He tries to move, to stop falling, to reach out, to do _anything_ , but he can’t. He just keeps falling, watching as he fades away. He’s fading and fading and he’s all alone, he’s all alone, _he’s all alone…_

“Hey, look at me.”

 _Sigma, it’s Sigma_. He tries to focus, tries to find him but there’s nothing but darkness, and darkness, and darkness consuming him. He whimpers as the fear tries to devour the glimmer of hope. But he’s _sure_ there’s someone there. He finds the strength to thrust his hand forward. And it finds something, something warm and comforting and familiar.

 _He’s here!_ His eyes dart wildly, trying to find him, to look at his face and see his smile because they’ve found each other in the most horrible of places and he’s not alone anymore. Neither of them are alone anymore and they are finally safe…

“Kiyotaka.”

The sound of his name sends a jolt of recognition through his body and it feels as if he’s been drowning, only now breaking the surface. He guzzles the air around him greedily and all at once, the room comes back into focus. He’s disorientated for a second, blinking the remaining haze away as he searches for Sigma. But when he spots Kuwata in front of him, he realises that Sigma was never there.

“You’re okay,” the redhead says softly.

“I’m okay,” he breathes in response.

The silence that lingers now is soothing, allowing Kiyotaka to catch his breath and contemplate the situation. Two panic attacks in less than a week. Why is this happening? What’s changed in his life to make him suddenly suffer like this? He tries to call out for the voice that’s been missing, desperate for some kind of cutting remark, but there’s no response.

And then it hits him. It’s because it’s gone. And without it, this is what Kiyotaka must _really_ be like. Incontrollable anger replaced by incontrollable panic. _This is the new normal._

He feels his grip tighten on whatever he’s holding as the tears threaten to spill and it doesn’t occur to him to look until he feels something squeezing back. Sure enough, he finds his fingers entwined with Kuwata’s. His breaths come out ragged, his chest heaving at the feeling of warmth that trickle up his wrist and the guilt that comes along with it. But no matter how hard he tries to let go, to relieve Kuwata of the responsibility of making him feel better, his fingers stay put.

“This helps,” he says without thinking. He looks up at Kuwata’s face, not quite sure what he’s expecting, and finds the same kindness as the last time.

“Yeah. I know.”

Kiyotaka nods, the tears now hot on his cheeks. As he hangs his head in shame, he feels his free hand raise and bunch into the fabric of Kuwata’s shirt. His throat tightens as he feels the other boy cover it with his own, rubbing his thumb along the knuckles, and he can’t stop himself from openly weeping.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs.

“Nothing to be sorry about, man.”

“I’ve ruined your evening.”

“Nah, I wasn’t doing anything anyway. This is much more important.”

 _Me, important?_ Kiyotaka’s head lifts, meeting Kuwata’s gaze uncertainly. The boy has dropped his façade, smiling at him with such sincerity that it makes Kiyotaka’s heart hurt. He can’t help but feel that everything will be alright, that he’ll get better one day. And that starts today.

“If I tell you my answer, will you tell Dr Hanata for me?”

“Sure, I can do that.”

“If I could have lunch with one person that’s passed away, it would be my mother because I want to know what she really saw when she looked in my eyes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh sorry it's so late! I really struggled with the assignment question and that put a halt on everything until I realised that I didn't actually have to address it halfway through the chapter like I thought. So I waited until right at the end and I finally found it. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone that's commenting, giving kudos and also to those silent readers. It really makes my day to know that you guys like this story as much as I do and really pushes me to carry on writing even when roadblocks hit me! I'll try to not let the next chapter take so long, but who knows!
> 
> Thanks again and hope you enjoyed! x


	7. Chapter 6

Physical contact was never something that made sense to Kiyotaka.

It wasn’t that he was _totally_ adverse to it. He could always see the benefits that could come from it; grabbing someone to stop them from falling, feeling a forehead to check for a fever, steadying a leg as they balance on a chair to change a lightbulb. If someone ran out in front of car, it would be instinctive to pull them from danger. These were things that made sense; functional, necessary reasons to engage in physical contact.

It was the _other_ things that he never really understood. Actions taken out of choice, rather than out of requirement. Throughout his life he would always notice held hands, gentle embraces, caressed faces and saw the pleasure that people got out of them. But the thought of these things happening to him always made him feel uneasy.

Of course, he had been embraced at _some_ point in his life. He would snap out of his episodes in the arms of his father, sobbing desperately into his chest as a hand rested on the back of his neck. At the time, he would be too overwhelmed with shame and confusion to really take in what it felt like to be held. But whenever he thinks back on it, he never finds any comfort in his father’s actions. It was only ever to stop him from lashing out further, and therefore deduced that it was a necessary use of physical contact.

Kiyotaka has never really been affectionate towards his family. At least, not in the way that most people consider the term. His parents know that he loves them, just as he knows that they love him, despite the constant amount of disappointment he brings on the already tainted family name. Besides, they wouldn’t have worked so hard at his wellbeing if they didn’t love him.

He’s well aware that not all children end up living with their birth parents. The kids at school would always fill his head with ideas of being taken away from his family because he’s worthless, ugly, disgusting, unlovable. And there were days that he believed them. When the taunts had become too much, when he’d screamed his throat raw and left claw marks on his father’s arm, he’d throw out the accusation in the heat of it all: _Why don’t you stop suffering and just get rid of me?!_

But his parents never did. They would tell him not to listen to the boys at school. That they would never let him go. No matter how hard it was, no matter how many bruises and broken vases it cost. Kiyotaka is their son and they are his parents. And nothing, _nothing_ that he could ever do would change that.

That’s all he ever needed to feel loved by his parents. They didn’t need to hold his hand, or to cuddle him on the sofa. They didn’t need to say the words themselves because that’s all they are: words. He learnt from a young age that words mean nothing, that they can be bent and twisted so far out of shape that the true meaning behind them is lost. If words are so fickle, why would he ask his family to waste his time on something so pointless?

And that’s what any form of affection became to him: pointless. It may have started with the words ‘I love you’ but quickly turned into anything that represented them. He needed to put all of his effort into studying, getting better, so he wasn’t going to expend energy on things that weren’t important. And parading around declaring his already obvious love towards his parents was _definitely_ something that fell into that category.

But it didn’t stop there. He would find himself wanting others to act the same way as he did. He would see children run into their mother’s embrace after a long day of classes and his skin would crawl. He would see fathers kiss their daughter on the head before ushering them towards their teacher and it would make his head spin. Why were all these people wasting time on something so irrelevant when there are countless other potential activities that could be benefitted?

He knew better than to approach anyone to tell them to adopt his mentality. He was a child; an _Ishimaru_ child. No one would ever listen to him. But it was something that would always bother him and make him pull further away from any form of needless contact of his own.

The problem truly escalated when the children got older. When boys started to appreciate the bodies of the girls, and the girls became giddy with glee around the boys. The corridors at school were ripe with kisses and embraces and other superfluous behaviour when they should really all be focusing on their studies and their education. It was _this_ that was truly unacceptable and was when he decided to act; become a hall monitor and use the rules of the school itself to relieve his own discomfort. Of course, it wasn’t the only reason he fell comfortably into the role, but it certainly was a large benefit.

His father always supported his mentality, commending him for looking at things so realistically. His mother, on the other hand, took it a little harder. She kept trying to stroke his hair or kiss his cheek. Kiyotaka simply shot her down, telling her to put the time she spent on him towards something much more valuable. He realises now that this might have made him seem a little cold, but he knows that when he achieves his dream of becoming Prime Minister, she will look down on him and know that all his coldness was worth it. And when the day comes and he’s old and grey, he can look forward to the moment where they’re reunited again and will hold each other in an embrace that lasts forever.

But all that was _then_ ; a time where Kiyotaka was alone. When he hadn’t felt the warm sensation of comfort that can only be generated by another person. And it seems that the here and now is a very different time to what once was.

“You’re alright, Kiyotaka.”

As he glances up at the boy that’s kneeling in front of him, Kiyotaka realises just how dependant he’s become on Kuwata. _No_. How dependant he’s become on _Leon_. As his head nods furiously and his fingers dig the safety blanket that rests on the redhead’s chest, he knows that Leon is the only one that he has ever made physical contact feel bearable. The fingers that grip his own chase away the terror that overwhelms him and he can gently settle back into a normal breathing pattern knowing that Leon will keep him safe.

The panic attacks have become more frequent. Over the course of a week and a half, he’s had another five. The majority of them have been caused by his normal nightmares and he’s managed to fumble his way through Leon’s door before collapsing in a heap on the floor, struggling to break free of the eternal darkness that he finds himself falling into. He’s gotten used to them already, knowing the symptoms before they start and can act accordingly.

The one that concerned him most had happened in the middle of class. Oowada had decided to turn up to class partway through. He isn’t sure if it was the shock of seeing the biker bother with his education, if it was the way the door slammed open without warning, or if it was the way he deliberately locked eyes with Kiyotaka on his way to his chair, but he suddenly couldn’t breathe. The room started spinning and he could hear muffled talking, but he could do nothing. And when he came to, he was sat against the wall in the laundry room, hands scrabbling for a grip on Leon’s jacket.

He knew at once that all of his classmates had seen him break down and the shame that has long disappeared during his normal attacks in the solitude of the redhead’s bedroom took him over. He sobbed for a long time and the other boy let him in silence, waiting for the wave of emotion to settle before reassuring him that no one had noticed. Everyone was more interested in Oowada’s outburst at the teacher’s sarcastic quip before Leon grabbed Kiyotaka arm and dragged him out of the room. He laughed when Kiyotaka scalded him for leaving class without permission, and they both knew in that moment that the hall monitor was eternally grateful.

But that’s not where they are today. This is just another nightmare induced attack in the confines of Leon’s room. And, as usual, he’s got nothing to worry about.

“Bad one tonight, huh?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re alright. Don’t worry about it.”

He didn’t even make it through the door this time; the attack took hold before he’d even knocked. He felt his body slam against the wood as his legs gave way and that must have alerted the redhead to his presence. Guilt trickles through him as he realises that he doesn’t remember how Leon got him inside the room, but he can’t imagine it was an easy feat.

“Come on, dude. Let’s get you a drink.”

Kiyotaka feels his brow furrow in disapproval as Leon stands up. Hands that were once buried in cotton are now held by the other boy, urging him to follow suit. But he stays seated, no matter how much encouragement he gets.

“That’s against the rules.”

“Dude,” the other boy chuckles. “You’re already breaking curfew by being here.”

“Yes, but…”

“It’s just to get some water. No big deal. We’ll come straight back, yeah?”

His smile is reassuring, promising and Kiyotaka can feel his resolve weaken. If they left now, it would take two minutes, forty seven seconds to get there. Fifty seconds to get the glass of water itself. Two minutes, forty seven seconds back. That bring it to six minutes, twenty four seconds. Give them a little bit of time in between for delays…

“Ten minutes,” he says firmly, allowing the other boy to pull him to his feet. “And then we come back”

“You got it.”

The walk there is silent. It’s an easy, comfortable lull; the kind that Kiyotaka has learnt accompanies the other boy during their late nights together. Around others, Leon seems pressured to keep talking, babbling about the latest trends or how many women he finds attractive these days. But around Kiyotaka, it seems that he quite enjoys not having to force anything just for a little bit. They have much more in common that he could ever have imagined and it only makes Kiyotaka ever more curious.

Which is why, once they reach their destination, he asks the question that prickles on his tongue.

“When was the last time you had a panic attack?”

The words catch the other boy off-guard, the water spilling slightly over his chin as he splutters in surprise. Kiyotaka wonders how the boy will react to such a personal question? The last time he asked something like this, he answered honestly. Will it be the same this time? Or will he have finally reached the breaking point, pushing the redhead to the limit and everything that he thought they’d built will crumble into dust?

“I’m sorry, that was too personal…” he backtracks quickly, the anxiety creeping in before realising that the other boy is wheezing.

“Its fine,” he squeaks, waving a hand in front of him insignificantly. “Just…gimme a sec. Water went the wrong way…”

Kiyotaka nods, feeling his cheeks heat up with embarrassment. As Leon coughs and hacks next to him, he feels like he should probably help somehow. He’s seen people hit others on the back to relieve choking and knows that this would probably be beneficial. But his body has seized up with an unknown fear, locking his limbs against his sides. It’s not at the idea of touching the other boy; that would be ridiculous and terribly hypocritical. It’s more at the idea of the gesture being unnecessary and unwelcomed, not wanting to risk jeopardising whatever it is between them.

So he waits. Waits as Leon’s eyes finish watering, the redness in his cheeks dimming to their usual flush and his body unfurls from himself. There’s one final cough before he hums in approval, blue eyes meeting his own once again.

“The last one I had was the first night here.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“W-what…I mean, why…”

“I dunno,” the boy replies with a nonchalant shrug. “I was just in my room, getting ready to go to bed and then _bam_.”

_Those words came out far too easily_ , Kiyotaka thinks to himself. He can’t help but picture the scene: a frightened boy all alone in his room, huddled against the wall, gripping his chest in the dark as fear consumes him. It makes a cold shiver run down his spine, the idea of going through his own panic attacks without any help shaking him to the core. And yet Leon speaks about as if it was something unimportant, insignificant.

“Why didn’t you call out for help?”

“Eh, I’m used to dealing with them alone. No need to bother anyone.”

Kiyotaka feels his heart tighten in his chest. How can someone like Leon, so popular and outgoing, think that asking for help would be a bother? He has plenty of friends, people that he can rely on to come to his aid whenever he needs it. How long did he suffer in his room by himself that night when all he had to do was step outside and knock on someone’s door? _His_ door, even? He would have been happy to help…

But that’s when he sees a flicker of emotion in Leon’s eyes. Something that he’s seen in his own reflection many a time: pain. A pain that he feels ashamed to admit. A pain that shouts out ‘I’m meant to be strong when all I want to do is break’. A pain that he’s kept hidden deep within and hopes will never break the surface.

What he wants to do is tell the poor boy that he’ll be there for him. That he never has to go through another panic attack on his own ever again. He wants to grab hold of his arms, shake him until all the self-doubt falls out of him and reassure him that he will never, _never_ be a bother.

But that isn’t what Leon needs to hear right now, and Kiyotaka knows it.

“What gets you through it?” he asks instead.

“You know…just telling myself that it’ll be over soon. Taking deep breaths with my eyes closed. Going to my happy place. Those kinda things.”

“Your ‘happy place’?”

“Yeah. You know. That place you go to help you relax your mind. You’ve got one, right?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Huh...”

_It can’t work_ , Kiyotaka thinks to himself. He can’t begin to imagine anything that could cut through the darkness that takes hold during an attack. It consumes him, deafening and blinding as he falls deeper and deeper. How could _any_ place on earth penetrate the devastating void in that moment?

But Leon can. _Leon_ can reach him, no matter how far he falls. _Leon_ is always within reach, always there to catch him once the panic has lifted.

But Kiyotaka knows that it won’t stay that way. There will be a time where the redhead isn’t around, where he’s totally alone and will have to navigate the darkness on his own. The thought makes him nauseous for a second, until he realises that he could still keep Leon with him. Even if he isn’t around.

“Maybe I can use your happy place…”

Uncertainly flashes in the redhead’s eyes at his words. Kiyotaka notices in the corner of his eye that the boy’s hand is playing nervously with his sleeve. He finds himself wondering if this is another coping mechanism that he’s used to repressing. He gets another urge to physically comfort the boy, but resists. He isn’t sure how personal it is to share ‘happy places’, but he feels like this is a step towards recovery. And Leon would want that for him, he’s sure of it.

“Creativity isn’t in my nature,” he continues, letting his eyes drop to the ground. “So to try to imagine somewhere of my own will be nearly impossible. But I have always been good at visualising descriptions. So maybe, if you describe what you think of, I can conjure up the image if I cannot find you…”

“You should _always_ be able to find me.”

“No, not always. You might be visiting your family. Or out with your friends. And you will not be around during the holidays. So I am going to need something of yours to help me when you aren’t physically there.”

This has an impact on the boy; the tension loosening in his shoulders like melting butter. Kiyotaka isn’t sure what the trigger was: perhaps it was the word ‘help’, or maybe it was the trust that must have been evident in the hall monitor’s voice, but something unfamiliar flashes in Leon’s eyes. By the time Kiyotaka’s stopped speaking, it seems as if there is a new found confidence plastered on the redhead’s face. He nods once, firmly, and leans his body against the counter behind him.

“Alright. Makes sense.”

Kiyotaka nods in response, following suit and resting his body against the cupboards behind him. He watches as Leon closes his eyes, realising after a few beats that he should probably follow suit. But just as he’s about to do it, the boy creaks one eye open once again.

“I haven’t told anyone this before,” the boy says quietly, nervously.

“Okay.”

Kiyotaka packs everything that needs to be said into that one word. He won’t say a word to anyone else. He won’t judge him for whatever it is that he pictures to calm himself down. He doesn’t think any less of him for needing this in order to cope. All of this and more is left unsaid, and he can see from the whisper of a smile on Leon’s face that they weren’t needed.

Both boys close their eyes together. And then Leon speaks.

“I picture the Sakura trees,” he says softly. “The world is quiet, empty, and there’s nothing but me and the Sakura trees. The air is full of the blossoms and I can feel them brush against my cheek. I can hear the sounds of bird in the distance, of a river bubbling nearby. I breathe in and I can smell the flowers; subtle, almost as if it’s not there at all. I feel the breeze on my skin and it feels cool. The grass is damp on my feet. But best of all…I’m safe. There’s no danger here. Nothing that can ever hurt me. And it’s just _beautiful_.”

As the words leave the redhead’s lips, the images immediately appear behind Kiyotaka’s eyes. The world around him takes shape before him, unfolding like paper and transforming into beautiful sculptures. He can see everything just as Leon describes it, _feel_ everything as Leon describes it. As he takes in all the wonders that this new world has to offer, his body feels weightless and all the worries he carries around with him disappear as if they never existed.

Leon was right. This place is _beautiful_.

He feels the smile creeping onto his face and the tears hot on his cheeks. He feels his legs loosen, sinking him gently to the ground. He hears a sound in reality but looks up in his mind. Leon is there, stood above him. A gentle smile on his face, red hair blowing gently in the breeze as the sunlight glistens around him like a halo. It doesn’t take him long to sit down on the grass beside him, head tilting upwards towards the sky.

“You see it?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s good, huh?”

“Yeah. It’s good.”

Kiyotaka feels his hand move unconsciously towards the other boy. Anything he’s ever felt about physical contact slips away as he feels the warmth of a palm against his own. He thinks that maybe this is a part of his imagination, something inside of him that has finally been set free. But when he feels fingers lock with his own, he’s glad to realise that it’s real.

He doesn’t know how much time passes like this. Sat amongst the safety of the Sakura trees, the comfort of physical contact softening the hard edges of reality. His self-imposed time limit must have passed by now, but Kiyotaka doesn’t care. He never wants this feeling to end.

“I gotta piss.”

Kiyotaka can’t help but giggle at the contrast of Leon’s words against the beauty of this world. He knows it could have been expressed more appropriately, but he’s so blissfully relaxed right now that the expletive can be forgiven. He glances at the mental Leon, nodding gently.

“Alright.”

“Shall we go back together?”

“I want five more minutes.”

“Cool. You stay here and I’ll come back, alright?”

“Alright.”

The empty space in his palm is cold, but not unpleasant. Nothing is unpleasant here, after all. But it is obvious that something is missing. He hears the real Leon shuffle to his feet, watching his counterpart wander away deeper into the trees.

The blossoms swirl around carelessly and Kiyotaka’s heart swells with happiness at the sight. He takes the time to count the flowers that fall, but quickly loses interest. He doesn’t need to do that here. He doesn’t need to make sense out of patterns and numbers in his usual compulsive manner. Everything here is better, so much better than everything out there. _He_ is better. And that’s a feeling he has _never_ felt before.

A flicker in the corner of his eye catches his attention and his perspective shifts to see what happened. Nothing. He shrugs to himself and turns his attention back to the world ahead of him. But it’s there again, not disappearing the second he pays attention. It’s a shape, indistinct, moving in the distance. He strains to focus on what it is, trying to mentally mould it into something logical. But it flickers and dims, expands and contracts, an incorporeal mass that doesn’t belong here. 

His mind walks forward, the grass tickling his feet as he moves. He takes his time, letting himself enjoy every second of every new sight he sees. But the shape lingers, distracting him from the calmness that surrounds him. He picks up his speed, curiosity taking over his senses. But no matter how far forward he goes, it seems no closer than before.

He’s running now, the need to catch up with the unknown anomaly gripping his heart. The wind barrels against his face as he weaves through the trees, but it’s still out of his reach. He can feel the beating of adrenaline in his chest, the pounding of his feet against the ground as he runs. But the rhythm is off, unnatural, although he can’t find the strength to examine it further.

And then he sees it change, morphs into something. S _omeone_. And he realises that he’s been searching for them for as long as he can remember.

He cries out to them, his voice lost in the roaring of the gale that’s suddenly picked up. They don’t look back, they just keep running. He tries to keep up the pace but the forest is thicker, the trees dark and dense as it closes in around him. Sticks and stones dig into his soles like knives, breaking the skin over and over again, staining the ground a dark red. But he just keeps running, desperation propelling him ever forward.

And suddenly they stop.

They’re not moving anymore and he’s managing to get closer and closer, pushing through the branches that gnarl and knot around him. Twig-like fingers scrape at his clothes, at his hair, at his skin, pulling him down. Roots wrap around his ankles, digging in deep and slowing him down to a halt. He’s stuck, trapped and they’re _right there_ , stood in front of that drop. He tries to cry out, but there’s no air. Soundless scream tear at his throat, begging, praying that they’ll hear.

They turn to face him but he can’t see their face. It’s hidden by shadow. But he _knows_ it’s him. It’s _always_ him. He reaches a hand out to grab them, save them…

“The _fuck_ you doin’?!”

Kiyotaka’s eyes shoot open at the words as he crashes violently back into reality. He’s back in the kitchen, huddled against the counter. _Where is he_? He darts his eyes around, manically searching for the boy in the woods.

But Sigma isn’t there anymore. In his place, stands Mondo Oowada. And his palm, that was gripping _something_ that feels like cotton, flies backwards from the boy’s leg without his consent.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me, you fuckin’ creep!”

Kiyotaka doesn’t get a chance to react as the biker’s foot connects with his side. His breath rushes out of his lungs in a wheeze as pain surges through his body. A whimper escapes his lips as he curls in on himself. _I don’t understand…what’s going on…_

His mind is in pieces, panic setting in hard and fast. The air is like fire in his lungs, chest constricting dangerously and Leon isn’t here. He clutches at his fingers, trying to feel the warmth that he desperately needs to calm himself down. But it isn’t there. He tries to go back to the Sakura trees, trying to remember the feeling of Leon’s palm against his own. But it doesn’t come.

“Help me,” he gasps, glancing helplessly up at Oowada.

“Shut up.”

“I-I can’t breathe…”

“Shut up!”

“Mondo, please…”

“ _I told ya to shut up!_ ”

The words roar out of the biker, ripping through Kiyotaka’s mind like daggers. _It’s over_ , he thinks. He can’t breathe and he can’t move and it hurts so much and _this is the end_. He’s weak, pathetic and this is how he will die. Suffocating in fear, drowning in darkness, burning from the inside. And there’s nothing he can do. 

“ _Help me!_ ”

Everything stops. The pain, the fear, even time itself just halts. And the last thing he remembers before the world goes black is a voice that’s been missing for far too long.

_I thought you'd never ask._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhh I thought this chapter would be easier to write! But turns out nope! 
> 
> I hope it isn't too confusing what's going on - let me know if it is and I'll try and clear up any confusion! 
> 
> Thanks as always to everyone that reads, gives kudos and comments on this. It really makes my day! 
> 
> Much love x


	8. Chapter 7

Freedom.

As the shackles that have held him down for so long are unlocked, as the door to the prison cell of his mind opens, Kiyotaka realises that he’s been trapped for all of his life. Held back by an idealistic view of what he _should_ be rather than what he _could_ be. With this new revalation, he feels the weight of rules, of expectation, of _everything_ suddenly lifted and he can breathe. For the first time in his life, he can fucking _breathe_. And he knows now that he’s never truly understood what freedom means until this very moment.

The feeling starts as a bubble in the back of his throat, trickling out slowly and gently as his body relaxes. As his lips twist into a maniacal grin, he feels it pushing against his teeth, threatening to escape. And when his eyes lift to bore straight into the lavender gaze above him, it’s all it takes for the seed to fully blossom and explode from his chest. His ribs feel like they’ll snap with the force as the laugher erupts from him. It’s relentless, exhausting, overwhelming…

 _This_ is freedom!

“T-The fuck ya laughin’ at, freak?”

Kiyotaka doesn’t miss the hesitation in the other boy’s voice, the slight quiver in his legs as he takes several steps backwards. It only makes him laugh harder, screaming out of him as he pushes himself to his feet. Every breath he takes feels like he’s choking, gasping on air that doesn’t have time to fill his lungs before screeching out at full throttle. His vison is blurry with tears, spinning with light-headedness and he feels like he might pass out at any second. But it feels _fucking incredible_!

“S-Stop it!”

The fear on Oowada’s face is something that Kiyotaka wants to carve in stone. Paint it on a canvas and hang it on his wall. It’s a masterpiece that only he will ever be able to appreciate. Or better yet, film it and put it on loop; a never ending moment that he can relive as often as he likes. Watching all the muscles in the boy’s jaw twitch and pulse, his eyes bulge with dilated pupils. Pure fear poorly hidden by a mask of confidence.

“I said _stop_!” the boy thunders, clenching his shaking fists at his sides.

And so he does. Just like that, as if someone hit the mute button, Kiyotaka stops laughing. The air around them buzzes with the memory as a sudden silence falls. It’s uncomfortable, tense, dangerous. Nonetheless, the sneer on Kiyotaka’s face doesn’t falter. The madness in his eyes doesn’t fade.

“Now what?” he says, a jarring juxtaposition between his voice and his gaze.

And the result is _fucking_ _beautiful_. The colour drains from the biker’s face as his eyes dart to the side. It doesn’t take a genius to realise that the boy is looking for possible weapons within Kiyotaka’s reach. It’s pathetic really, especially as his shoulders loosen slightly when he finds nothing obvious in sight. Like he needs anything to kick the shit out of this loser…

“The fuck ya doin’ out here?” Oowada snarls, a spark of confidence in his voice that Kiyotaka plans to snuff as quickly as possible. “Yer breakin’ the rules.”

“The _fuck’s_ it got to do with you?” he retaliates.

“The psycho act ain’t gonna work this time, dumbass. I’ve figured out yer tricks. Ya can’t surprise me.”

“Oh yeah?”

“ _Yeah_ , that’s right. You ain’t _shit_ without the Doc, or Leon, or the fuckin’ headmaster. And it looks like there’s no one here to protect ya this time, is there?”

“Oh, Leon. You’re back...”

Oowada’s eyes widen in panic and his body twists to look over his shoulder, an apology already forming on his lips. By the time he realises that he’s been tricked, it’s already too late. Kiyotaka’s already moving, the distance between them enough to pick up much needed speed. He drops his position to brace against the impact of shoulder against ribs, legs ready to bear all the weight he needs.

As the biker turns back to face him, there’s barely enough time for a flurry of curses and the hall monitor barrels against him with all his strength. Kiyotaka can feel Oowada’s fingers clawing against his back, his own arms locking in place around his legs and the momentum forces the biker off his feet. As soon as Oowada’s back hits the floor, Kiyotaka shifts his body to the side and puts his weight against the elbow now resting in the crook of other boy’s neck.

“Who needs protecting now, bitch?” he sneers breathlessly.

“F-Fuck you…”

“When the fuck are you gonna learn, huh? How many times do I need to kick your ass before you realise that _I’m_ the one in charge here, huh?”

“Shit…”

“You think you’re _so strong_ , don’t you? Did it make you feel _strong_ to hurt someone who couldn’t fight back, huh? Did you feel _strong_ looking down at someone begging for help? Huh?!”

Kiyotaka’s face is now dangerously close to the biker’s. He can see each droplet of sweat on his brow, each wrinkle of terror and anger. He can feel the grin on his own face widen, twisting his features to breaking point. He’s honestly never felt more alive in this moment, electricity coursing through his veins at the endless possibilities that run through his mind.

“ _Well_?! Did you?!”

“N-No…”

There’s a new look in Oowada’s eyes, one that he’s only ever seen once before. It was the last time he came close to feeling this way and acted out against the ones that had bullied him for so long. As his fists collided with the nameless boy’s face, he saw the same desperate look in his eyes. One that he has never found more satisfying than the way it sits _so fucking perfectly_ on the biker.

Defeat. He’s won. _I fucking won_ …

“Stop!”

Kiyotaka’s eyes snap up to the doorway at the sound and the sight of an unwelcomed guest running towards them sets his blood on fire. _Oh hell no_! Fast as lightening, his elbow shifts from Oowada’s throat and instead rams itself deep in his gut, air rushing out of lungs in a strangled grunt. He doesn’t even have time to enjoy the sound of him choking on air; he’s on his feet and charging towards the intruder, teeth bared in an animalistic snarl.

The boy stops dead and tries to scuffle backwards, but Kiyotaka’s too fast. His hand is around his throat, feet still moving until he feels the body slam against the wall. Fingers helplessly claw against his fingers, his wrist, his arm, desperate to find some release. But none will come.

“W-what are you…” the boy gasps, voice cracking under the crushing pressure of Kiyotaka’s grasp as he’s slowly lifted off the ground.

“Shut up.”

“Kiyotaka…p-please…I can’t……”

“Shut _up_.”

“I-it’s me…please…it’s…it’s Leon…”

_No!_

The scream slices through his thoughts and Kiyotaka recoils backwards, both hands slamming against his head that suddenly feels far too heavy. The pain is crippling, pressing against his skull with enough pressure to make it crack. His knees buckle as a wave of nausea crashes over him, vision starting to blur, heart pounding at an alarming pace. He can feel _it_ starting to tug at him, like clumsy fingers, grasping for the light and dragging him back under the surface.

“No,” he snarls to himself, chest heaving as he forces himself to his feet. Determination surges through him and the resolve to finish what he started pushes back any doubts back to the depths of his mind. A few deep breaths is all it takes for clarity to return, for his strength to return and he’s back in the game. _Good_.

His gaze lands on the boy slumped against the wall in front of him. He’s gasping for breath with tears in his eyes, full of terror and confusion. Kiyotaka smirks, taking a step forward and he hears the whimper seep out of the boy’s lips. His body curls into itself, trembling hands desperately held above his head as Kiyotaka reaches out menacingly.

“Please...please don’t…”

_Do not touch him!_

Kiyotaka’s body arches backward, a guttural scream escaping him as he drops to his knees. Red hot heat sears through his entire body, threatening to rip through his skin. _I won’t let you back_. _Not while I’m still having fun!_ He slams his palms over his eyes, pushing back at the clawing fingers that threaten with a roar.

“Get out of my head!”

_Leave him alone!_

“Shut _up_!”

_No! I will not let you hurt him!_

“Shut up, shut up, _shut up_!”

“Kiyotaka?”

A savage growl rolls out between Kiyotaka’s teeth as he slams his hands to the ground, eyes flying wildly to find the source of his name but he can’t see anything. He’s losing control, his whole body wracking with every breath. Everything is spinning, everything hurts, the shackles creep closer and closer and closer. _I won’t let you back, you bastard! It’s my turn!_

“Kiyotaka…”

“ _No!_ ” he screams and digs his fingers into his scalp, desperation clasping his heart in its vice-like grip. He squeezes his eyes closed, violently thrashing his head from side to side to shake away the invading thoughts. _I’m free, I’m free, I won’t go back, you can’t fucking make me go back…_

“Hey.”

A sudden calmness washes over Kiyotaka at the sound and his body stills. There’s a few beats of cautious silence before he lets his fingers loosen in his hair and drop to his knees. His breathing is slower now, softer as he searches inwardly for the anger that dissolved so abruptly. And when he doesn’t find it, he finds the courage to open his eyes.

“Leon.”

His voice crackles with sadness, guilt, shame as he peers up into the ice blue eyes of the boy sat right in front of him. Leon’s shoulders drop with relief; the motion barely noticeable, as if he’s trying to hide his emotions. A smile plasters itself on his face it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s forced, scanning him for signs of danger as if he were a rabid animal.

“Yeah. Leon.”

Kiyotaka feels tears prickling at the words, tenderness mingled with fear. Leon reaches his hand out towards him and the memory of Oowada’s kick flashes before Kiyotaka’s eyes. A jolt of fear shoots through his body and he flinches, whimpering pathetically, reliving the pain, covering his trembling body to protect himself from any attack that may come.

The hand is retracted immediately, panic flashing in the other boy’s eyes. It takes a few seconds before it fades. And a gentle sadness takes its place.

“Okay. It’s okay.”

 _It isn’t okay_ , Kiyotaka thinks to himself as the tears spill onto his cheeks. _Nothing will ever be okay_. How can they be? Everything he’s been working towards, all his accomplishments and triumphs, none of them will matter once people realise what he’s capable of. The lack of control, the anger and violence; that’s all anyone will ever see. And now that the voice has returned, now it’s tasted the sweetness of freedom from the depths of Kiyotaka’s mind, what’s to say it won’t try again?

He always told himself it was just his subconscious. He’s heard people talk about inner monologues, dirty thoughts, daydreams; all kinds of voices that one could hear in their mind. _Normal_ explanations that he’s desperately tried to attach to his own internal voice yet always known deep down that it was something much, _much_ different.

This has just proven his theory. This is no simple ‘voice’. It has a life of its own and forced Kiyotaka to become a passenger in his own body, watching himself move against his will as if he were watching it on a screen. He could see the colours dancing in front of him, hear the words that flowed out of his mouth in a tone that didn’t belong to him. He was hypnotised as he watched his fingers tighten, letting himself succumb to the desires of whatever, _whoever_ it was that was in control.

Another person shares his body and they are _mentally unstable_.

“Hey,” Leon whispers, his body shuffling a fraction closer. The word is drawn out soothingly, warm and easy, and his fingers inch closer to Kiyotaka’s knee.

“Leon…”

“It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I-I couldn’t…I didn’t…”

“It’s okay.”

Kiyotaka’s gaze drops to Leon’s neck, bile rising in his throat at the sight. A necklace of black and purple already adorns his throat, angry and sore against his pale skin. Kiyotaka wishes he had the power to remove them, to have never let this _thing_ inside him force his hand. He feels the urge to trace his fingers across it, the tips of his fingers tingling at the thought. But he resists. Instead, he focuses his concentration on the feeling of Leon’s fingers against his knee.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he breathes, meeting the redhead’s gaze once again.

“I know.”

“I’m frightened.”

“I know.”

 _I need help_ , Kiyotaka thinks to himself. His behaviour has never been acceptable, but now he’s ventured into dangerous territory. He can feel _him_ there, watching his every move, listening in to everything he says, everything he _thinks_. He’s right on the edge, pushing with all his might towards freedom, and Kiyotaka isn’t sure how much longer he can hold onto the reins. He needs to do something. _Anything_. If he doesn’t, then Leon…

Of course. _Leon_.

“I couldn’t…couldn’t stop him…”

_What the fuck are you doing?!_

He can feel the rage searing into his skull but he ignores it. _This is the right thing to do_ , Kiyotaka tells himself. _Leon can help me._ He forces his focus onto holding the boy’s gaze, confusion in his eyes, uncertainty in his fingers as they twitch slightly on his knee. But the redhead’s jaw clenches in determination and he shuffles ever closer, his free hand gently taking hold of Kiyotaka’s arm, thumb running back and forth slowly, soothingly.

“Who?”

_Don’t you fucking dare!_

The white-hot flames in his stomach ignite with the threat and Kiyotaka knows that time is precious. He needs Leon to understand, to know the full extent of everything that he’s kept a secret for so long, everything that he’s _refused_ to understand, and he needs to know _now_. He snatches up the other boy’s hands, squeezing as though he’s a lifeline.

“I hear him in my head,” he whispers, noticing Leon’s eyes widen slightly in response. “He’s so loud, so angry, all the time. He went away and then the panic attacks started. I thought he was gone for good and that I could get better. But now he’s back and I don’t know how to stop him.”

“Who?”

_Stop fucking talking!_

“He makes me do things I don’t want to do,” Kiyotaka continues, his words increasing in both speed and volume as he tries to force back the fingers that claw at his throat, desperate to silence him, the screaming fogging his thoughts as they start to swirl. “He makes me break the rules, lose my temper. He makes me _hurt_ people. It’s him. It’s not me, it’s never been me. I always thought it was, but it isn’t. It’s _him_.”

“Who are you talking about?”

_I swear to God, you shut your filthy mouth, you bastard!_

“You have to help me!” Kiyotaka shouts, grabbing onto Leon’s face in sheer desperation as his senses go into overload, the turbulence in his head overwhelming him, heart pounding in his chest as he stares directly into terrified eyes. “You’re the only one that knows! You’re the only one I trust! Please, Leon! Please help me fight him!”

“Help you fight who, Kiyotaka?!”

“ _Me!_ ”

The scream is a grenade, ripping out of his chest, crashing against Kuwata’s face like shrapnel. His body convulses violently as the air burns in his lungs with every breath. Kiyotaka watches as the colour drains from the redhead’s face, hatred bleeding out of every pore in his body. His mouth twists unnaturally, eyes widening manically, overcome with the desire to rip this _bastard_ into pieces…

But he doesn’t get the chance.

A pair of large arms hook underneath his armpits, ripping his hands away from Kuwata’s face. He’s in the air before he can do anything about it, flailing like an unwanted puppet. He snarls, twisting his head around to see who the _fuck_ ruined his fun and meets lavender eyes. Lavender eyes filled with resentment.

“I gotcha this time, asshole,” Oowada spits, backing them both away from the boy on the floor. “Yer not goin’ anywhere.”

Kiyotaka roars in frustration, his body thrashing wildly, fingers clawing at the biker’s flesh, heels slamming down against shins in a reckless attempt to free himself. But Oowada is strong; a seemingly impenetrable wall of muscle that Kiyotaka cannot make a dent in and that just makes him angrier. He blindly throws his head back, aiming carelessly for Oowada’s face, but to no avail. Oowada’s smarter or faster than he looks. Either way, this is seriously _pissing him off_.

“Go get the Doc!”

Oowada’s yell cuts through the noise and Kiyotaka’s blood boils with both anger and fear. _It can’t end this way, I won’t fucking let it_! His jaw clamps down on the biker’s arm, the taste of iron rolling over his tongue as his teeth pierce the skin. Oowada cries out in pain, ripping his arm away reactively and gives Kiyotaka the opening he needs. Wriggling free, he drops to the ground and runs as fast as he can manage, ignoring the shouts coming from behind him.

The corridors merge into one, his sense of direction shot as the adrenaline pounds in his ears. His legs burn, his lungs ache, his head is swimming, but he doesn’t stop. _There’s no fucking way I’ll let them stop me!_ His feet fumble and he loses balance, tumbling painfully down a flight of stairs before picking himself back up to continue. And before he knows it, he crashes through a set of doors and a gust of wind whips across his face as he stares out into the night.

_Please! You cannot do this!_

Kiyotaka snarls at himself, choking down the pleading that tugs at his throat. _I can do what the fuck I want, asshole_. He takes a few seconds to catch his breath, figure out his next steps, but draws a blank. What _does_ he want to do? He’s never had the chance to do anything that isn’t reactive, never been given any options that weren’t staring him right in the face. So now that freedom front of him, he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

“I found him!”

His head whips around at the sound, an unfamiliar sense of dread washing over him at the sight of Kuwata appearing at the bottom of the stairs. _Gotta think fast_! He’s running again, letting his feet take him away from the school grounds and towards the main road.

“Kiyotaka, no!”

_Please stop!_

He ignores them both, partially on purpose and partially distracted by the stinging in his feet. He knows he’s bleeding, the uneven rubble slicing into his bare soles as he runs. _When the fuck did I lose my shoes_? He can hear _him_ crying, telling him that he’s breaking the rules, he needs to go back, we can fix this if we just go back. _Fuck that_. Kiyotaka doesn’t _want_ to fix this. He wants to be _free_.

The scenery around him changes, loses its colour as he enters the city. The lush green that surrounds Hope’s Peak Academy withers away, replaced by dank grey buildings and miserable grey roads. It’s bright here; too bright and so fucking _loud_. It assaults his senses, almost driving him to listen to the pleading. But Kiyotaka keeps on running, fuelled by his own stubborn pride.

He’s never had the chance to explore the city before. But he knows that all cities can become a labyrinth if you try hard enough. Dashing from alley to alley, he pushes deeper and deeper into its heart, further and further away from searching eyes. And it’s only when he knows he’s safe that he stops, breathless and sore, and slumps against the ground.

There’s a part of him that knows he needs to examine the damage to his feet, but he refuses to do that. That’s something _he_ would do and he won’t be caught dead doing anything so fucking pathetic. He does, however, notice that he’s still in his pyjamas; a light green fleece shirt with matching tartan bottoms. A flash of anger and embarrassment that doesn’t belong to him flashes in his mind and he grins to himself.

“Get over yourself,” he mumbles, glancing around to try to get his bearings. _Where shall I go now_? “You’re such a pussy.”

_We are dressed inappropriately! We have to go back to school!_

“Yeah, no. Not happening, dickhead.”

_You are tarnishing our family name with your reckless behaviour!_

“You seriously think I give a fuck about that?”

 _This is_ my _body!_

“Not anymore.”

Kiyotaka hears a tirade of furious, meaningless words in his ears but only sniggers. Pulling himself from the ground, he steps into the middle of the alleyway, glancing both ways at what lies in that direction. Food and alcohol one way, food and alcohol the other.

“Looks like we’re getting wasted!” he laughs, taking a step forward before his body freezes.

Kiyotaka snarls, trying to force his body to move. But the stubborn fucker has put his foot down; _literally_. He can feel him there, using every ounce of strength to hold firm, to break the surface and put the shackles back around their owner. And he’s _strong_ , stronger than he should be right now.

“Absolutely not.”

The words grind between his teeth, throat constricting as he tries to choke them back. _His_ words. Air huffs out of his nose as he scrabbles to keep his grip, control slipping further and further away from him as the world fades in and out of darkness.

_I won’t let you win, asshole!_

“Stop resisting!”

_We need to get back to school!_

“I said no!”

Words tumble out of his mouth, both his and not. Thoughts float around his head, both his and not. Temper flaring, resolve burning, control and lack thereof. Two points of view in one mind, clashing violently, pushing and pulling for dominance…

“You lost, kid?”

Kiyotaka spins around at the sound of a gruff voice, meeting multiple sets of eyes. Despite the cigarette smoke that clouds their features, he can see the spiked black leather and uncouth hairstyles of the three men in front of him. His mind immediately flickers to Oowada and a memory of his obnoxiously loud bragging about his rule over the gangs in the country. And in the same instant, he realises that he’s both in trouble and going to have a lot of fun.

He tries to answer but his throat constricts by some miracle. Both a taunt and an apology flew into his mouth and, should he have not been in an internal battle for control, both would have escaped at once. He swallows them down, his body forcing his eyes closed in an attempt for Kiyotaka to decide which version of himself should be present right now. Passive or aggressive? Aggressive or passive?

“You fucking deaf, kid?”

_Passive._

“No, I can hear just fine.”

A moment of silence. Uncomfortable silence followed by footsteps. And he can hear the smirk in his voice.

“I’ve seen you before.”

_Passive._

“I think you are mistaken.”

“Nah, I’ve _definitely_ seen you before.” The footsteps draw closer. “You’re that cop’s kid. Ishimaru, right? Now what’s a kid like you doin’ in a place like this, huh?”

 _Passive_.

“I…I...”

“This might be our lucky night, boys.”

The smell of cigarettes and whiskey assault his senses as he feels hot breath against his face and a fist in his shirt. _Passive._ His heart is pounding so heavily he’s sure that the stranger can feel it against his fingers. _Passive._ And then there’s a clink of metal and a cool, sharp sensation digging against his throat. _Fucking passive…_

“Let’s send daddy a warning. An ear, maybe? Or a finger? What d’you think, boys?”

“Back the _fuck_ off.”

_Aggressive._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry once again for the delay! Family illness meant I had to spend free time taking care of them (not COVID thankfully!) and also this chapter is mostly action, which is something I'm not fully confident in yet. I'm hoping it isn't disappointing!
> 
> Thank you for all the wonderful comments, kudos and everyone that's reading silently! I hope this chapter makes sense - it's difficult actually to deal with multiple personalities in an effective way, especially duel consciousness (which again, I hope is okay!)
> 
> Much love! x


	9. Chapter 8

Fist fights are something of a common occurrence when it comes to Kiyotaka.

He is what is known as the ‘easy target’ for bullies and a ‘scapegoat’ for those that are likely to be bullied and want to deflect attention, so of course that brings a certain amount of violence into his life. Whether he liked it or not, he would often find himself pinned against a wall or shoved against a locker or in a battered heap on the floor. And that meant that self-control was something that he had to grasp tightly to keep himself from fighting back, even if that meant a daily beating.

Of course, this was not always possible. Sometimes there was no choice. There were days where he would be goaded into throwing a punch, manipulated with threats about his family or his ambitions. How could his family _love_ someone who can’t even fight back? How could _anyone_ vote for someone that’s got no backbone? Go on, throw a punch, you’ll feel better, just do it, do it, _do it_. Simple words laced with poison aimed straight for the heart. And like a fish drawn to the worm, he would take the bait.

Under normal circumstances, Kiyotaka is not a fighting man. He used to go to kendo classes before his family decided that it was best he stopped going. The official statement was that they could no longer afford the classes, which wasn’t entirely untrue. The amount of debt his grandfather left his family after his downfall meant that the Ishimaru’s needed to sacrifice a lot of things in order to simply survive. But he later realised that there real reason was more a case of not wanting him to have an _actual_ weapon in a room full of children that were hell bent on making his life hell. If hindsight taught him anything, it’s that his parents absolutely made the right choice.

Given this, when the harassment reached his limits, it turned out that the punches Kiyotaka threw at his fellow classmates were soft. He would be so overcome with emotion and blinded by tears that he would swing clumsily, widely, and he would lose his balance. The boys would laugh, push him around and around, singing nastily about how they’d annoyed the goodie-two-shoes so much that it forced him to break the rules. And it would always end in a black eye or a busted lip, bruised ribs or a sprained ankle, and the pent up frustration would always end up directed at his family once he was safe in the walls of his home.

So no. Kiyotaka himself is not a fighting man. But that doesn’t account for the _other_ Kiyotaka.

Whilst his more reserved counterpart tries desperately to avoid violence, _this_ Kiyotaka practically lives for it. And, despite being imprisoned ninety eight percent of the time, he’s damn good at it. He’s got a knack for reading an opponent’s movements, figuring out weak spots and cracks in the armour. He’s had a lifetime of watching himself lose over and over again, retaining every drop of information and honed in on the most important details. And on the _very_ few occasions he’s been allowed to do more than just smash some plates, the rush he’s felt has been _invigorating_.

When he’s in control, he _never_ loses.

The first victim was that little shit three years ago. He doesn’t count his father; he’s just collateral damage. But that little shit had it coming. Months and months of being surrounded by his little ‘gang’, months and months of constant torment, months and months of biding his time. What did the bastard expect to happen the moment they were alone? Certainly not that Kiyotaka Ishimaru, the timid loser and target of his constant terrorizing, would turn around with a crazed look in his eyes and a punch that broke his nose.

He admits that he got a little carried away with that one. But hey, after years of being held back, what’s a kid to do? Why should Kiyotaka listen to his pathetic crying and screaming when _he_ never listened? Why should Kiyotaka consider just how much blood there was when _he_ was never satisfied until the hall monitor ran home with blood running out of his nose? Why should Kiyotaka give a fuck about the damage he was doing when _he_ would laugh and sneer and punch and kick all the goddamn _fucking_ time for months and months and _months_ and all Kiyotaka was doing was giving him what he _fucking deserves_ …

The second was Oowada. Much too long a gap between the two for his liking, admittedly, but whoever said ‘people need the sweet pain of anticipation to tell that they are really alive’ is dead on the nose. Listening to that jackass running his mouth about ‘strength’ and ‘being a man’ had seriously begun to grind his gears and the chance to smack that cockiness right off his face was almost too much to handle. Kuwata was a bonus prize, collateral damage. The feeling was sweet but certainly nothing quite as thrilling as taking down the Ultimate Gang Leader. Oowada was undoubtedly his greatest achievement. If he can take the biker down, he can take _anyone_ down.

And that’s his mentality as he grins sadistically at the stranger in front of him. He’s going to take this fucker down in front of all his little friends. Wipe that shitty smirk off his shitty face and once he’s finished he’ll pick the rest of them off one by one.

“The fuck you say to me, kid?”

“I said: Back. The. Fuck. Off.” Kiyotaka emphasises each word individually, not missing the fact that the knife against his throat has dropped away. “Make myself clear this time?”

There’s a beat of silence before an eruption of laugher echoes through the alleyway. Kiyotaka watches all three men bend over double in amusement, his grin only widening. _Keep on laughing_ , he thinks to himself. _Let’s see who’s laughing in the end_.

“Shit, kid,” the leader guffaws, slapping a hand on Kiyotaka’s shoulder. “I’ve not laughed that hard for fucking ages! I really needed that!”

_You cannot win this._

“I like you. You got guts, kid.”

_We need to run away._

“It’s a fucking shame your dad is a cop. We could’ve been such good friends.”

_Think this through! Please, use your head for once!_

“Ah well. Fun time’s over. Now, be a good boy and let me…”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. The hand that was once on Kiyotaka’s wrist has been pulled away and twisted violently; a nauseating crack followed by a roar of pain ringing through the night. Kiyotaka’s foot slices through the air and into the stranger’s chest, propelling him backwards until he crashes against the floor, the knife that was once in his hand clattering against the wall. Gasps and curses come from the other goons, but they make no advance on the hall monitor. _Smart_.

“That all you got, old man?” he says, lapping up the surprise plastered on all of their faces.

_What are you doing?! Stop taunting them!_

“Get your sorry ass up. Fun time’s only just begun.”

_He is planning to kill us!_

“I haven’t got all day. So get the fuck…”

This time, Kiyotaka is the one that doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Before he can blink, the stranger on the floor has twisted around to grab the knife and is launching himself straight forwards. A curse falls from his lips as he jumps backwards, narrowly avoiding a well-aimed stab. What he doesn’t avoid is the punch to the face that swiftly follows, pain screaming throughout his entire face at the impact and he plummets to the floor. _I broke his wrist! How is he still moving?!_

_Get up! Please, get up and run!_

But he can’t. All he can do is focus on the pain in his face. It hurts so _fucking_ much, more than any pain he’s ever felt in his life. _What the actual fuck?!_ He hears heavy breathing and snaps his eyes up, locking eyes with his attacker, ready to launch into another full on attack.

What he wasn’t expecting was the chill in his veins at hatred that radiates above him.

“You’ve really pissed me off now, kid,” he snarls, a deadly seriousness in his voice that wasn’t there before. He slams his hand down and Kiyotaka rolls away on instinct, barely avoiding the knife aimed straight for his gut. “I was planning on keeping you alive. But now I just want to watch you _bleed_.”

Another thrust downwards is painfully close to hitting, but Kiyotaka’s quick reflexes keep him out of harm. _This isn’t going to plan._ His heart is pounding so hard it feels like it’s in his throat, cold sweat drenching every inch of his body. _This isn’t like the others._ He scrambles backwards to dodge another attack…

But this time he isn’t so lucky.

There’s a burning pain as the knife catches his leg and a cry of agony flies out of his mouth. Every ounce of confidence that was once there disappears at once, tears spilling across his face as he openly sobs. He can hear himself begging, an unfamiliar desperation that he’s only ever seen on other’s faces now screaming in his mind. _I’m going to die. Oh shit, I’m going to die._

“Hey assholes!”

A familiar voice cuts through the air followed shortly by a loud cracking sound. Kiyotaka glances upwards on instinct, noticing that his attacker has suddenly lost focus on the boy below him. He doesn’t miss a beat; scrambling backwards out of the way while he can. Words of retreat litter his mind, the pleading almost deafening. But he’s stubborn and morbidly curious so instead of running, he looks towards the source of the distraction.

Mondo Oowada. Stood over the unconscious bodies of the other two men, chest puffed out triumphantly. A metal bar in his hand, rapping threateningly against his open palm. And a smirk on his face that exudes confidence.

“Well, holy shit,” laughs the stranger. “Mondo fucking Oowada.”

“In the flesh.”

“I thought I had me a sweet catch here with a cop’s kid. But to take down the leader of the Crazy Diamonds? I’ll be fucking legend.”

“Think ya can take me? Fine. Come an’ get me.”

All at once, the world seems to move in slow motion. Kiyotaka watches as the stranger starts a well-trained charge towards his classmate. He watches as the biker’s stance widens, how his eyes and grin widen manically, watches every cog in the boy’s brain work so much faster than the man coming towards him. It’s obvious that Oowada was _designed_ for this; a fighter through and through…

_He is stronger than you so leave him to it._

He hears those words loud and clear in his head; _he is stronger than you._ At this his vision starts to fail as a rush of insecurity grips his heart. He can only just make out Oowada and the stranger, blurs of colour swimming in the grey murkiness of the alleyway. His breathing falters, his chest seeming to crush inwards as he tries to stop his brain from spinning. He feels sick, sick to his stomach, why is this happening?

_No one is stronger than me_. He forces himself to repeat this as he tries to push himself to his feet; the pain in his leg burning like fire. But his strength is gone, every part of his body is trembling and he collapses back down against the ground. _No one is stronger than me_ …

_What are you doing?! Get up and run!_

_Fuck you_ , he thinks to himself, the resentment at his own weakness giving him the strength he need to push his way over to the wall. _Don’t tell me what to do_. Steadying himself, he pushes his way to his feet and realises that he can put his weight down on his injured leg. The wound can’t be that bad. _No one is stronger than me..._

“I can still fight,” he growls softly to himself, closing his eyes to refocus. He needs to collect his thoughts, try to regain the power he’s always felt when he’s given free reign. He needs to _fight_ …

_Are you mad?! You are hurt! You need to get help!_

“Shut up.” _No one is stronger than me…_

_You cannot win this fight! He is just too strong!_

“Shut _up_.” _No one is stronger than me…_

_There is nothing wrong with losing! Just get over yourself and run!_

“ _Shut up_!I didn’t fucking lose! I can’t lose! You know why? Because no one is stronger than me! So shut your filthy fucking…”

“ _Get the fuck outta here_!”

Kiyotaka’s eyes fly open and land on Oowada. He’s straddling his opponent’s stomach, one hand holding him down by his throat. The older man squirms in pain under his weight, but the biker doesn’t seem to care. It’s almost effortless, and that pisses Kiyotaka off no end. _No one is stronger than me_. He feels the fire in his stomach ignite and opens his mouth to tell this _fucker_ just where he can shove his demands. But lavender eyes meet his and he’s suddenly frozen in place.

“ _I said go_!”

_Oowada is stronger than_ me.

Logic returns to Kiyotaka like a wave, dousing every fire in his body, thawing his frozen muscles. He stumbles backwards with the force of it, the brightness of the world hurting his eyes as he crashes back into reality. And with not a second of hesitation, he turns on his heels and runs.

As his feet drive him forward, his mind flickers back to Kappa. He’s always found himself empathising with child, telling himself that he understands exactly how he feels. Night after night of watching the boy run through the woods, of feeling the fear that takes him over at the thought of being caught, so how could he _not_ understand what that feels like?

But tonight has changed everything. Kiyotaka has never felt more frightened in his life. Not even the first time he felt himself be taken over holds a candle to this feeling right now. And if this is even a fraction of the fear that courses through Kappa’s veins…

He isn’t sure when he makes it back onto school grounds but it’s obvious when the stinging in his soles returns with a vengeance. The floor is smooth against his feet, the coldness ripping away the numbness that had set in, setting each gash alight like a furnace. The sensation sparks the familiar flame in the pit of his stomach, disgust at his own anxiety rising like bile in his throat.

He knows for certain that he isn’t going to make it back to his room, so there’s no point in trying. So instead, with his last remaining shred of self-control, he forces his feet to move to the nearest possible sanctuary, away from the potential of unwelcome eyes. As he throws himself through the door of the student’s toilets, the door swinging shut behind him, he does the only thing his body, his _mind_ , will let him do.

He _implodes_.

A furious battle for control between two polar opposites sends Kiyotaka’s body into overdrive. His limbs twist and jerk violently, his back crashes into walls again and again and again. His throat is raw, screaming out meaningless threats and desperate accusations, head spinning as his thoughts are torn to pieces one by one. Angry, frightened, ashamed, disgusted…around and around they go, a tornado of emotions he just can’t escape.

And then it’s all too much.

He lurches forward, spilling what little content there is in his stomach into the sink and over the floor. His fingers curl around the rim of the sink, the cool porcelain biting at his burning palms as he gasps through the aftermath. The darkness behind his closed eyelids bring a moment of much needed calmness and he pulls himself back, wiping his mouth a trembling hand as he opens his eyes. When he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, his blood runs cold at the sight.

The boy looking back to him is a stranger, yet at the same time so very familiar. Stark white hair, a dangerous snarl twisting his features, teeth bared savagely. Even in this position he can see a certain looseness in his shoulders, one he’s only ever experienced second hand. But in spite of everything he sees, it’s his eyes that grab his attention; searing red eyes staring straight back at him. Full of hatred and violence and rage.

Kiyotaka can feel his heart pounding, experiencing a fear that isn’t mirrored in his eyes as he’s pulled in by his own reflection. The longer he stares, enthralled by the madness in his eyes, he sees his lips pull upwards. The madness turns feral, sinister, and he watches his head tilt manically to the side.

_“_ This is not real. _You_ are not real.”

Kiyotaka feels his mouth moving, feels the words roll over his tongue. So why did the boy in the mirror remain unchanged? And why did his voice sound so far away?

_What is happening?_

The grin grows even wider at the thought, even more insane, and his body leans forward until he’s almost touching the mirror. He can see the condensation fog up the glass, hear the raggedness of his breath, but he can’t pull himself away. He’s frozen, watching his body move without his consent, waiting for something terrible to happen.

When his mouth finally moves, it’s to take in an enormous breath before opening wide in a bloodcurdling roar.

Kiyotaka’s fist slams against the image of the white haired boy and it shatters, the pieces singing gently as they clatter against the sink and the floor. Crazed laughter and frightened tears spill over simultaneously; sick amusement overlapping with crippling terror. He’s exhausted but alert, the confliction making him dizzy. Knees buckling, fingers slippery with blood and sweat, Kiyotaka crashes to the floor.

He needs to focus. Focus on being strong, on being weak, on breathing, on _existing_. But he can’t. He can’t do anything but let his body fold in on itself, resigning to the continuous onslaught of clashing thoughts…

“Holy shit!”

Oowada’s voice strikes him like a bullet, piercing through the noise and chaos. His immediate reaction is to run, get away from the boy out of fear of more pain. But that would be too simple. Instead his body decides to give way to the rage, pushing all logic back and locking the door as an enraged snarl seeps through his gritted teeth.

“What the actual fuck have ya done?!”

“Stay away from me,” Kiyotaka spits in return, pushing himself backwards and out of the reach of the biker’s hand that’s trying to grab him.

“Ah shit, are ya bleedin’? What the fuck were ya thinkin’?!”

“Stay _away_.”

“Yer fuckin’ insane, ya know that?! Yer gonna get expelled if they find out what ya did tonight!”

“ _Stay away from me_!”

An uncomfortable silence hangs heavy over the room, the two boys unmoving as they stare each other down. Red and lavender, full of rage and frustration, one and the same. The world seems to have stopped, time and space put on pause. And it’s only when a heavy sigh leaves Oowada’s lips that the wheels of time start turning once again.

“Which one are ya?” he says bluntly, catching Kiyotaka off guard and into a stunned silence. “Is it Hardass or Psycho?”

“Fuck you.”

“Psycho. _Great_.”

There’s another sigh as Oowada crouches down in front of the other boy. Kiyotaka’s heart feels ready to burst out his chest as his legs push him even further backwards, fear leaking through the rage as his back bumps into the toilet behind him. His eyes dart manically around him as he realises he’s trapped, merciless to whatever attack the biker has in store.

“I ain’t gonna hurt ya, dumbass.”

“ _Bullshit_.”

Rage etches itself deeper into the lines of Oowada’s face for a split second. Kiyotaka isn’t even _trying_ to push his buttons, but it’s so _fucking_ easy! He tries to relish in the glow of triumph but he knows this isn’t the time for taking pleasure in his actions. He needs to keep himself out of danger, and Oowada is the epitome of the word.

Just as quickly as it appeared, the anger in the boy’s face drops in intensity. The biker’s jaw clenches, teeth gritted, as he huffs out through his nose. Kiyotaka hears a small curse before a large hand wraps itself around his ankle. _Danger!_ He tries to pull his leg back, further into his body, but Oowada’s strength makes the attempt futile.

“Stop strugglin’! Jesus, I just need to…”

But he doesn’t. Kiyotaka struggles more, slamming his fists down on the other boy’s wrists only to be batted away far too easily. A string of colourful words rush out of his lungs and meet Oowada’s in the middle, painting each other in shades of resentment and determination until fingers wrap around a wrist and pull forward.

Fingers touch cotton, palm against muscle. It catches him off guard; all words leaving his mind in that one moment. Kiyotaka’s eyes are wide as he watches his hand rise and fall with the rhythm of Oowada’s heavy breathing, feeling the angry drumming of his heart.

“Just shut up an’ hold on.”

Oowada’s voice is rough, biting at a softness that doesn’t exist in his vocal chords. His face mirrors this; a deep frown that looks more threatening than comforting. But there’s something in his eyes that contradicts his expression and voice. Something that Kiyotaka can’t read.

“Why?”

“It helps, right?”

_Yes_.

The word is loud in his mind and his fingers clamp down instinctively, a strange warmth washing over him as they tangle deeper into Oowada’s shirt. It drowns the fire, washes away the haze that so often takes over. He feels naked, uncomfortable, not at all like himself. This is _his_ time, _his_ moment in the light, but this feeling is against everything he stands for. He might as well be restrained, held in place by the shackles he smashes into pieces…

“Yer lucky the bastard didn’t do worse,” Oowada grumbles, examining the cut on Kiyotaka’s now exposed shin. “It’s shallow. It’ll just heal on its own.”

“I’d have done worse to him.”

“Heh. Sure.”

“Fuck you. I kicked the shit out of you.”

Oowada glances up, a smirk on his face. The confidence from earlier has returned and he’s holding his hand out expectantly. Kiyotaka knows that it’s because the edges of his insult are softer than normal, the venom not as potent.

“Yer strong, I’ll give ya that,” he chuckles, dropping his gaze as the other boy allows him to examine the injuries on his free hand. “An’ yer fuckin’ fast. Ya caught me off guard for sure. But tell me for real. Has anyone ever fought you back?”

“I don’t give them a chance.”

“Hmm. Thought so.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Ya felt scared, right?” The biker doesn’t lift his eyes as he speaks, doesn’t give any indication that he notices when Kiyotaka’s fingers twitch in his palm. “He was out to kill ya an’ from what I saw when I got there, it looked like ya lost control of the situation. So my guess is that was yer first _real_ fight, one that didn’t go the way ya planned, an’ ya lost it. An’ that scared ya shitless, right?”

Lavender eyes finally meet his own and Kiyotaka immediately feels a lump in his throat. It isn’t kindness in Oowada’s eyes nor is it hostility. It’s a look that he’s never received from anyone before; acknowledgement. He is looking straight into Kiyotaka’s eyes and _truly_ seeing him, _both_ of him, for the first time, and it seems like he’s okay with it.

“Yer hand will be fine.”

“Okay.”

“Is Hardass back?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

That’s it. That’s all Oowada says, a casual shrug as he shifts to sit properly on the floor in front of him. He’s clearly closer than he wants to be but, given that Kiyotaka’s fingers are locked in place against his chest, it doesn’t seem like he will make a fuss.

“So what’s yer name?”

“Kiyotaka.”

“That’s the other one’s name.”

“It’s _our_ name.”

“Don’t it get confusin’? Havin’ the same name?”

“Why does it matter? He’ll never let me out again for it to make a difference.”

Oowada hums thoughtfully, nodding his head slightly before smirking.

“But ya’ll come out anyway, right?” Kiyotaka feels his lips turn up in an involuntary grin and the biker chuckles. “So I’m gonna need a name for ya. Like fuck am I gonna keep sayin’ a long ass name like Kiyotaka. An’ I’m sure as hell I’ll get a lecture for calling ya Psycho…”

“Aren’t you scared of me?”

The words leave Kiyotaka’s lips before he can really stop them. If he’d been thinking it through, he would have put more poison in there, made it a statement rather than a question. He would have tilted his head in his signature fashion, or possibly even leant forwards, to try and intimidate the boy in front of him. He would have forced his eyes wide, grin even wider, _anything_ that shows just how dangerous he has the potential to be.

But in this moment, here and now, he doesn’t feel that way. He’s gotten comfortable in the warmth, the calm, almost forgetting entirely the ferocity of the anger that usually consumes him. He’s always hidden away behind the mask of the Moral Compass, all consequences falling on the lap of his counterpart while he takes pleasure in the chaos.

But now someone has seen him, _this_ him. They’ve broken the mask into tiny pieces and allowed him to take a step back, take a breath and just _exist_. Allow him to let go of the rage, of the hatred, and just be at peace.

“Should I be?”

“Probably.”

“Pfft. Whatever.”

Laughter rumbles in Kiyotaka’s chest, bursting out and filling the room like a song. Sweet, innocent and childlike; radiating a happiness he never thought could exist in his world. He feels things he’s never felt, never _wanted_ to feel before and the tears that spill are cool against his flushed cheeks.

Maybe, just maybe, being weak isn’t all that terrible every once in a while.

But time is short; he can see it in Oowada’s eyes. In the sadness that lingers in the shadow of a smile. He takes his free hand and wipes his face, not the slightest bit ashamed when his eyes fill up again.

“I have to let him back out, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Such bullshit.”

“Heh. Yeah.”

Kiyotaka nods, a small sniffle escaping as he closes his eyes, preparing himself to recede back into the darkness. He starts to loosen his grip on the material against Oowada’s chest, but stops as his heart clenches in his chest. His eyes open once more to see the other boy’s raised eyebrow and he feels himself pout.

“This helps him, by the way. Not me.”

“Right.”

“I’m only keeping hold for him, got it?”

“Sure.”

He hums with a firm nod, ignoring the smirk on Oowada’s face along with the heat in his cheeks. He quickly closes his eyes again, visualising the door. He can hear him in there, crying and screaming, begging to be let out. He’s never done this before; never willingly given up control. But he knows that, for now, his job is done. It’s time to go back to his prison.

“Thanks by the way,” he mutters, not entirely sure he’s even spoken until Oowada responds.

“What for?”

“You know. Saving us and shit.”

“Oh…yeah. Don’t sweat it.”

“See you, Mondo.”

“See ya, Ishi.”

_Ishi_.

It stays with him as he opens the door. He holds it tight; cradling it as his body is dragged into darkness by invisible hands, forced back into the chair he’s lived almost his entire life. And once he’s restrained, forced to watch the world through another’s eyes, he glances down at the flicker of light that lingers in his palm. It whispers that one word over and over and over until it becomes a part of him; a new fire igniting in his heart, one that feels like it’s been missing for so long. And with a smile, he understands.

_Ishi. My name is Ishi_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh sorry once again for such a long wait! These chapters are getting harder and harder to write as plot stuff happens! And given what I wanted out of this chapter, I needed it to be just right before I posted it.
> 
> Also, in case it's not obvious, 'Ishi' is 'Ishida' - but given that the name Ishida is a combination of Mondo and Taka's surnames, I didn't think it was appropriate to refer to him as such. So Ishi it is!
> 
> Another also - you may have noticed I updated the tags to include another ship. Yup. It's gonna happen - I can't stop it! Got a few key moments in my head at the moment for this particular ship but not how it will resolve. Heh. Oops!
> 
> Anyway, thanks everyone as always for all your kind words and kudos. It means everything to me to know that people are still enjoying it as much as I'm enjoying writing. I do hope that the long breaks between chapters isn't off-putting!
> 
> Thanks for reading everyone! Much love x


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you could please take the time to read my A/N at the bottom, that would be great. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“Why have you never mentioned this to me before?”

Kiyotaka feels himself squirm uncomfortably at the question. The day had already started terribly; frogmarched into a room by both Leon and Oowada first thing this morning. He can’t imagine what anyone would have thought had they been seen; two of the classes’ biggest troublemakers escorting the Ultimate Moral Compass to the headmaster’s office is not what anyone would expect. So when they opened the door only to be greeted by Dr Hanata instead of the headmaster; that was the definitive sign that today was not going to get any better.

He can feel everyone’s gazes on him, three beams of heat burning into his skull, and yet he refuses to look up. How on earth can he face them? After what happened last night, he was expecting to be expelled on the spot. Criminal damage to school property, violence against his peers, leaving the premises without permission; all serious offences that would result in immediate expulsion on their own. And yet somehow that all seems to be forgotten and the only priority is discussing Kiyotaka’s mental health. Not only does he feel guilty about the whole affair, but overwhelmingly embarrassed!

Of course, he had a suspicion that Leon was integral to keeping him from expulsion. He doesn’t _think_ they classify as ‘friends’ just yet, but the redhead’s kindness and understanding is something that Kiyotaka has learnt to trust. And sure enough, it seems that Leon had run to Dr Hanata’s room to explain it all. In hindsight, it made sense seeing as they turned up at the same time last night. Kiyotaka wasn’t sure how he’d felt when the headmaster had told him at the beginning of his treatment that his therapist would be living a floor above them, but now he thinks it’s a blessing.

What he hadn’t accounted for was the support from Oowada. He barely had a chance to blink before the biker was reassuring everyone that everything’s fine, he’s calm now, he’s back to normal, nothing to worry about. He could only stare at him over Leon’s shoulder in disbelief. Of all the people in the world, Oowada is the last person he thought would defend him.

Whenever they’ve crossed paths in the past, it has always been like walking on eggshells. It’s no secret that neither boy like the other, but for such a heated reaction at the mere sound of each other’s voice was far from normal. But as Leon fussed over him last night, he could see a new look in the biker’s eyes. One that wasn’t full of hatred and frustration. Something softer, almost _kinder_ …

“Kiyotaka?”

Kiyotaka winces, hands clenching together in his lap. A part of him had hoped that his silence would encourage a topic change. But he’s smart enough to know that never works. Dr Hanata is persistent when it comes to her treatment; a trait that is less common in therapists than you would expect. She’s never tiptoed around difficult subjects if she truly thinks it will help. And this is bigger than _anything_ they’ve ever discussed.

“I know this is hard,” Dr Hanata says softly. “But this is really, _really_ important. I can’t help you unless you talk to me. I had hoped after all these years, you would have built some trust in me. _Do_ you trust me, Kiyotaka?”

“Yes.”

“Then talk to me. Why haven’t you spoken about this with me?”

“I…I wanted to be normal.”

There’s a heavy silence following his words and it makes him squirm even more. He can feel his fingers tingling, longing to reach out and grab Leon’s shirt, but he stops himself. After what these hands did, Kiyotaka doesn’t get that luxury anymore.

So he’ll do what he’s always done; wring his hands pathetically together and hope the friction burn offers the false comfort that never follows.

“So…what _exactly’s_ wrong with him?”

Oowada’s gruff voice to his left surprises him although it really shouldn’t have. He doesn’t know much about the boy, but he knows tact is not his strong suit. He’s always been straight to the point, not caring if his words bring upset. It’s a trait that Kiyotaka has noticed about himself and one that he has desperately been trying to fix. So as much as it annoys him, he would be hypocritical to judge.

“That’s insensitive, Mondo,” Dr Hanata scolds. Oowada splutters in annoyance but is cut off. “You should consider whether Kiyotaka is comfortable with me discussing this in front of you.”

“Ya’ve already started talkin’ to him about it. D’ya not think he would’ve said somethin’ if he weren’t comfortable with us bein’ here?”

Kiyotaka doesn’t need to look up to sense the smugness radiating off the biker but he does anyway. The boy is leant back in his chair, arms crossed with an amused grin on his face. _He’s far too comfortable for someone sat next to a ticking time bomb_ , he thinks to himself.

“Besides, _I’m_ the only one that’s had a proper conversation with him,” Oowada continues. “So, if ya ask me, I’m _entitled_ or whatever to hear what’s up.”

He isn’t lying. From the tiny fragments that he’s managed to salvage, he knows that Oowada had some form of conversation with him. He can’t remember the topic, the words all melding together in his mind. Only feelings. Anger, fear, upset and resentment followed by calmness, happiness, trust.

“Kiyotaka, what are your thoughts on this? Are you happy for Mondo and Leon to be a part of this conversation?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Dr Hanata nods and nerves knot themselves in Kiyotaka’s stomach at the sight. This is it. This is the moment that he gets an explanation for why he is the way he is. Every outburst, all the violence and fire in his belly; it will _finally_ make sense.

“First things first,” she begins. “I want you to know that I have already discussed this with your father. I called him first thing this morning with my theory, wanting his perspective to see if it matched my hypothesis. I discussed the events that have happened so far, from the first incident to last night, and I asked him if similar things have happened in his company. I wasn’t very surprised to learn that these are indeed things you have already displayed, but to a lesser extent. There were things he was not aware of, such as the voice in your head, however he confirmed that you commonly acted out as if you were a completely different person. I also want you to know that I have had extensive training in this condition and I feel confident in my initial diagnosis.”

Kiyotaka’s stomach drops with shame. He had hoped to keep his father out of this whole mess. He works so hard every day to right the wrongs that has been left behind by his own father. He’s suffered so much as Kiyotaka was growing up. For once, he wanted to spare him the torment, let him carry on with his days in peace while Kiyotaka got the help he needed.

But he understands. He isn’t yet an adult so all decisions for his treatment has to go through his father. So until the day that Kiyotaka turns 18, his father would always have to bear his burdens.

“I have already explained the full details with your father and he asked me to simplify my explanation to you for the time being. He feels that it would be too much too soon and I agree. So with that…” She pauses, watching Kiyotaka’s expression before continuing. “I believe you suffer with something known as Dissociative Identity Disorder. And I believe that the person that Mondo and Leon met last night is one of your other identities.”

_Dissociative Identity Disorder_. There’s a medical term for it. Kiyotaka already knew there would be, had tried to prepare himself for whatever it was that was coming. But no amount of preparation can stop the tears from welling. He clears his throat, trying to dislodge the lump that’s formed, but it does no good. His fingers burn in his lap, violently twisting against each other in his lap as he tries to keep his composure. He feels his teeth digging into his lower lip, holding back the wet hiccups that threaten, his damp eyelashes fluttering closed…

“Are you feeling okay, Kiyotaka?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Would you like a break?”

_Yes_ , he thinks to himself but his throat tightens around the word. Kiyotaka so desperately wants to stop talking about this. He wants to run away, far away from all of his problems and be a _normal_ teenage boy.

Why him? Why is _he_ the one that has to suffer all the time? Why has the world put this curse on him and his family? Isn’t it bad enough that they’re in so much debt not? Isn’t it bad enough that he has no friends to call his own? Isn’t it bad enough that his mother is gone, leaving him and his father alone in this cold, harsh reality? _Why does it have to be me?_

Warmth presses against his hands, holding his anxious fingers in place. His lungs momentarily stop working at the touch, only to stutter back to life at the soothing caress against his knuckles. The usual blanket of warmth begins to envelop him, his seized fingers loosening in response, allowing a soft palm to slip in and rest against his own. Luring his hand up, away from his lap, leading him to comfort.

_Leon._ Gentle eyes meet his own as he turns his head. Kiyotaka can feel himself falling deeper and deeper into them; a sea of endless blue, full of forgiveness. His smile is warm, reassuring, and the beat of his heart against his fingertips resonates like a song.

“You okay?”

For the first time today, Kiyotaka _does_ feel okay. So long as Leon is here, how could he not? He opens his mouth to answer…

But something catches his eye. His eyes drop to the redhead’s neck and his stomach twists in disgust at the angry bruise that adorns it. The bile rises up his throat at the sight of it, the memories of the night before flashing in his mind. It doesn’t matter if Leon has forgiven him; Kiyotaka hasn’t forgiven _himself_. So he pulls his fingers free, holding them in tight fists on his lap. It takes every ounce of strength for him to turn away from the pained gaze of the boy to his right, so instead he distracts himself by shaking his head.

“I am fine,” he says emphatically, meeting Dr Hanata’s gaze head on for the first time today. “Please continue.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Before I go on, I must address something with Leon and Mondo first.” Her eyes flicker between the other two boys. “I need you _both_ to understand that we are _never_ to force any of Kiyotaka’s identities to retreat. Mondo, I know that you said that one of the identities willingly released control because you told them to and given the circumstances, I do not blame you for this. But from now on, you must _never_ make any of them feel unwelcome. Do I make myself clear?”

Kiyotaka feels the heat in his cheeks at Dr Hanata’s words. It’s strange to hear someone talking about him is a plural, let alone for it to seem like there might be more than just the one person sharing his body. He thinks back on the past few years, on the voice that’s provoked him for so long. Yes; one voice. One cold, nasty voice. That’s all there has ever been…

“Now Kiyotaka. I’ve heard that you try to fight the feeling of your other identity when you feel them there. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me why that is?”

Kiyotaka feels himself frowning. He suspects that his father, Oowada and Leon gave her the full description of what happens when _he_ tries to come out. How out of control he becomes; vulgarity and violence burning white hot in his blood…

“You do not know what he is like.”

“No, I don’t.”

“All he ever wants to do is hurt people.”

“I see.”

“It would be better for you to help me keep him locked away.”

“Have you ever considered that perhaps he behaves the way he does _because_ he’s locked away all the time?”

Kiyotaka opens his mouth to answer but stops short. If he’s honest, he’s never considered anything of the sort. Up until yesterday, he wasn’t aware that there what he was experiencing was another person living inside of him. He tries to think back, about how he felt trapped in the darkness for just a few hours, remembering the fear that gripped him. This ‘other Kiyotaka’ must feel like that all day, every day…

But that train of thought stops short. Fear is _never_ something he remembers feeling in the fragments he regains when he loses control. The boy inside him is _fearless_ and actively tries to make those around him frightened. He revels in it, lives for it, and that makes him dangerous. Too dangerous to let take control again.

“I would like to meet him should he feel comfortable enough to come forward.”

“Why would you _want_ to meet someone like that?”

“It’s as I said to Leon and Mondo; I won’t allow _any_ of your identities feel unwelcome.”

Kiyotaka can feel it. He can feel his fists tighten in his lap, the nails dangerously close to piercing the skin. He can feel his frown deepen, etching itself into his face as the muscles constrict. The blood in his veins simmer, his heart pounding in his ears. This is anger; plain, simple anger.

And it’s got _nothing_ to do with the white haired boy.

“What’s his name?”

“What?”

“The voice in your head. What’s his name?”

_Ishi_.

The word is a whisper in the back of his mind, so quiet Kiyotaka thinks he imagines it. It’s followed by a wave of nausea and light dizziness. He clears his throat, shaking his head to clear his mind, opening his mouth to retort…

_Ishi_.

The colours in the room melt, melding together into a mess of browns and greys that are so bright that they hurt his eyes. Garbled sounds dance around him, pooling around the back of his head into a dull ache. The air is thick, tangible, resisting him as he tries to shake his head once again. And ever still, the word repeats itself. Over and over, louder and louder, faster and faster…

And then he’s in the darkness; silent and alone. Staring at a wooden door with heavy padlocks and a barred window. He feels a sense of uneasy familiarity as he looks at it, like an itch he can’t quite reach. He sifts through foggy memories, wading through countless images of his past. But this door has never existed.

And then he sees them; a set of burning red eyes through the bars.

_What’s happening? Is he okay?_

_Why’s he all spaced out?_

_Don’t touch him._

The voices are distant as he takes a couple of steps forward towards the door. The eyes remain focused on him, piercing the darkness. The closer he gets, the more of his features Kiyotaka can see; white hair, pale skin, a deep scowl…but nothing compares to his blood-red eyes.

“Why the fuck are you here?”

Kiyotaka watches his lips move, the voice that’s so often clawed at his brain oozing out and reaching his ears. He sees the anger in his eyes, red hot like the furnace he so often feels in the pit of his stomach. It fills Kiyotaka’s chest; a piece of a puzzle that never fit quite right until this very moment.

“I asked you a question, asshole. Why the _fuck_ are you here?”

“It’s you.”

“What?”

“It’s you. You’re the one in my head. The boy in the mirror. It’s _you_.”

“No shit. Now answer my fucking question.”

Kiyotaka goes to answer but realises he can’t. _Why_ is he here? _Where_ is he? How did he _get_ here? It all feels so irrelevant. But he sees the heat in the boy’s eyes flare brighter and forces himself to focus, think back on the moments before he found himself stood before this door…

“I-I heard you.”

“What?”

“I heard you. You were saying something.”

“Bullshit. I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes you did. You said…you said…”

_Think._ What was it that he said? What was the word that brought him here in the first place? He searches the boy’s face for an answer, finding nothing but rage and hatred…and then he remembers.

He doesn’t hear it; he _feels_ it. A flicker of heat deep in his chest spreading throughout his entire body. Caught off guard, he grasps at his shirt and remembers; the word brushing against his ear like a gentle sigh.

“Ishi.” The boy’s eyes widen, filling with an emotion that Kiyotaka has felt so many times in his life. “Your name…it’s Ishi.”

“H-how…”

_He’s been gone a while, Doc. Ya sure he’s good?_

The sound of Oowada’s voice rings in the background, catching both boys by surprise. Ishi looks back over his shoulder and, adjusting his angle, Kiyotaka manages to see what seems to be a giant screen in the room behind the boy. For a while, the colours flicker meaninglessly, blurred shapes drifting aimlessly across the screen. But the longer he looks, the image sharpens and a realisation strikes him hard in the chest.

Right now, Kiyotaka is inside his _own mind_. And the images on the screen are what his _body_ can see.

The image shifts to show Oowada waving a hand in front of his eyes, only to be promptly scolded by Dr Hanata. A small sound focuses his attention back to Ishi and he’s is surprised by what he sees. The boy’s eyes have softened, the scowl eased into something that looks somewhat like a smile. He hears Oowada curse and a soft laughter tumbles out of Ishi’s lips; innocent and happy…

Kiyotaka doesn’t understand what is happening. How can someone go from exuding so much hatred to looking so innocent in a matter of moments? Dr Hanata’s words echo in his mind; the ringing of Ishi’s laugh at another one of Oowada’s antics on the screen making them seem even more relevant...

“I want to make a deal.”

Ishi spins around as Kiyotaka’s voice booms around them, all trace of happiness quickly replaced by irritation and confusion.

“What?”

“I said...”

“I heard what you said, dumbass! What d’you mean by ‘make a deal’?”

“If you can promise that you will not be violent, I will…uh…you can…”

Kiyotaka finds himself fumbling for words. He knows what he wants to say, but doesn’t know how best to say it. ‘Let you out’ makes it seem like Ishi is a prisoner whereas ‘take over’ makes it seems like he’s a demon, and that’s the complete opposite of what Kiyotaka wants…

“Is that it? I just have to not hurt anyone and you’ll let me out?”

“Yes. That is all.”

There’s resolution in the raven-haired boy’s words. Ishi can hear it, _feel_ it, but he still hesitates. There _has_ to be a catch. There’s no way he would come barging in, releasing his shackles with promises of freedom if there wasn’t a goddamn _catch_. But he can’t find it. Why the _fuck_ can’t he find it?

_Surely we can’t just sit an’ watch him all day?_

Mondo’s voice barks from behind him and he can’t stop the grin from forming. Turning his head to look at the screen, he imagines what it would be like full access. He could spend more time with the biker, have the boy look at him the way he did last night. He would be his own person without the fear of being forced back into this hell. He would _finally_ be free…

Fuck it. Who gives a shit what the catch is? He’ll find a loophole.

“Deal.”

The sound of the padlock hitting the floor almost drowns out his voice. He feels his heart pounding as the door creaks open ever so slowly, the light from the screen behind him lighting up the narrow corridor outside. Ishi realises that he never knew what it looked like out here; it’s always been an endless pit of darkness that he leaps into desperately whenever he gets the chance. But this ‘deal’ of his has changed that. Now he sees a hallway; wooden walls and wooden floors leading to an old wooden door.

Taking a cautious step forward, he keeps his eyes constantly focused on Kiyotaka. But the other boy doesn’t move; he simply watches as he makes his way towards the door. As he passes him, Ishi stops for a moment. He’s not sure why apart from that he feels compelled to do so. He can see his reflection mirrored in the scarlet eyes; noticing with disgust at just how fucking similar the two of them are. He’s certain that Kiyotaka has noticed the same; the look of resentment on his face speaks volumes.

The boy in front of him nods stiffly and Ishi finds himself returning the gesture before continuing forward. His hand rests on the handle and he can’t help but take a glance over his shoulder. Kiyotaka hasn’t moved, still stood rigidly in place. Ishi doesn’t even realise that the door is swinging open before a bright light engulfing him. Simultaneously, he watches the darkness reach out, wrapping itself around the other boy, a look of terror crossing his face as he cries out. He reaches out his hand, struggling against the force the drags him backward, disappearing into the darkness and the slam of a door is the last thing Ishi hears before everything goes white.

And then there’s colours. Reds, greens, yellows, browns. Fuzzy and murky; suddenly sharpening and refocus as he feels his eyes blink. And it’s cold; the usual heat that follows him is nowhere to be found. He glances down at his hands, _his_ hands, turning them over incredulously at how easy this whole process has been. As a final test, he reaches out to Kiyotaka, whispering his name in his mind.

Nothing. Just silence. _This_ was the loophole.

Ishi releases the tension in his body with a content hum; rolling his shoulder and flexing his fingers both of which have started to seize. Fucking Kiyotaka and his stupid posture; the guy _never_ relaxes and it fucks so hard with his body. He lifts his eyes, seeing a middle-aged woman sat in front of him. _Dr Hanata_. With a deep breath, he pushes back with one of his feet, leaning the chair backwards to rest on its hind legs. _Much more comfortable_. Once he’s finally settled, he releases the breath with a grin, positively fucking _ecstatic_ at the sharp intake of breath from his right.

Even though the raven-haired boy is locked away in the prison cell, a deal is a deal. But what poor, naïve Kiyotaka asked him to do was terribly vague. Sure, he can’t get up and _physically_ hurt anyone. But he didn’t saying anything _mental terrorism_. That’s his specialty. He doesn’t have to move, doesn’t even have to _speak_ to achieve that. He just has to be Kiyotaka’s complete opposite.

And what better way to kick things off with freaking out the bitch his father pays to ‘fix his problems’.

“Hello,” the woman says calmly, pausing to give him time to respond. Of course, he answers with nothing but silence. “Can I ask your name?”

“No.”

“Okay. Can I ask you how old you are?”

“No.”

“Okay. What about if you ask me some questions instead?”

“No.”

Ishi doesn’t break eye contact, watching for any subtle signs of frustration. Unlike Kiyotaka, he’s had time to figure out the nuances of body language. A lifetime of watching through another’s eyes means that he can instantly read a person based on what they’re doing. Or even better; what they’re _not_ doing.

And that’s exactly what’s happening here. The smile on the Docs face hasn’t faltered, trying to lure him in. To the untrained eye, this is kindness. But what she _hasn’t_ done is kept her eyes in check. He knows that flicker better than anyone. This woman isn’t kind; she’s _testing_ him.

“I was hoping to get to know you better.”

“Tough shit.”

“Hmm.” The sound is quiet, thoughtful; Ishi almost doesn’t hear it before the corners of her mouth twitch upwards. “What about this then: you hear my initial impression of you and then you can tell me if I’m right. If I’m right, you stay and we talk. If I’m wrong, you can leave. How about that?”

_Stupid bitch_ , he thinks to himself as he watches confidence seep into her expression. Kiyotaka has done an annoyingly good job from keeping him hidden so what could she _possibly_ know? Nothing; only what he’s let her see now. If she thinks she can get under his skin, she’s sorely mistaken.

“Give it your best shot,” he sneers, crossing his arms defiantly across his chest. “I’m listening.”

The Doc nods, leaning forward to rest her elbow against knee that’s draped over her leg. There’s a pregnant pause; the tension so thick it could be cut with a knife. And then she begins.

“I believe that you are a teenage boy, the same age as Kiyotaka. I think that you are a confident boy; one that’s good at figuring people out. I think you thrive on frightening people; making them uncomfortable in your company because it makes you feel powerful. And I think that you are extremely intelligent; using your skills to achieve that goal. How am I doing?”

“Stop pussy-footing around. If you’re so fucking smart, tell me what you _really_ think.”

“You hold a lot of anger inside of you. An obvious statement perhaps considering your behaviour; _anyone_ could tell you that. But what they can’t tell you is _why_ you’re angry. They can’t tell you what it is that makes you behave the way that you do, why it feels so good when you do what you do. And I think even _you_ don’t know how to explain it.”

_What the fuck?_ Where did _that_ come from? Ishi feels his grin slipping ever so slightly at her words, his heart tightening in his chest. _Keep it together_ , _she knows nothing_ …

“I get the feeling that you’re so angry because you’ve been trapped. Watching Kiyotaka fall prey to insults and bullying and violence you whole life without being able to do anything to stop it from happening. You’ve tried to break out, tried to stop him from being hurt, but Kiyotaka was frightened. He didn’t understand who you were and what you were trying to do and so he fought you off, kept you locked away. Your feelings have twisted because of that. What was once the desire to protect has now changed into the desire to _hurt_.”

A cold chill courses through Ishi’s veins as the woman continues. Every word she speaks is like a knife, twisting deep in his gut. _How is she doing this_? The air rushes out of his nose as his breathing quickens, desperately trying to regain some composure.

But his mask has slipped and she can see right fucking through him.

“I think you have been misled. You think that the only way to be strong is to throw a punch, or break a bone. It’s the only thing that Kiyotaka never did unless _you_ helped him, the only thing that allowed you to break free and do what you needed to do. But there’s strength in more than just your fists. You know this, but you just lost it along the way. And I think that with my help, we can find a way to help you co-exist with Kiyotaka.”

Ishi wishes he’d never made that deal. He wishes that he could wipe that knowing look off the stupid bitch’s face and make her swallow her words. _How the fuck does she know_? All the things that he _knows_ but forgot, the way he _used_ to be before he spent years locked away in the darkness…She’s spent five fucking minutes with him and has managed to drag it all out into the open and now he’s stuck here…

“Well? How did I do?”

But Kiyotaka never told him he had to listen to _her_ , did he?

“Fuck this.” The chair clatters to the floor loudly as he rises abruptly to his feet. “I’m done.”

“W-wait…you can’t just…” the boy to his right, Kuwata, splutters pathetically.

Ishi’s gaze burns into the skull of the woman in front of him. He can’t read her expression but isn’t surprised; he can barely think straight anymore. His blood is on fire, his entire body shaking with pure rage. He’s going to ruin his chance of freedom if he’s not careful. What he needs to do is get away from her; her and her poisonous words before it’s far too late. With a snarl, he turns his body to face the door.

“Watch me.”

But he doesn’t get far. There’s a hand gripping his arm; one that feels like it could snap his arm in two if it put enough effort in. His head snaps around, eyes boring into its owner. What he meets are a pair of lavender eyes.

“Sit down.”

“Let me go.”

“No.”

“Let. Me. Go.”

“Not until ya sit down.”

“I will break your _fucking_ wrist.”

“I’d like to see ya try. Now sit the fuck down.”

Ishi’s eyes flash wildly, his mouth twisting viciously and his fist swings out without his consent towards the boy in front of him. _Do your job, Ishi. Keep us safe_. Blinded by rage, all sanity gone as he screams out everything inside, feeling the darkness choking him, dragging him back inside…

_Let me out!_

“Shut up!”

_Please, let me out!_

“Leave me alone!”

_You have to let me out! Ishi please! Please let me out!_

“ _No!_ It’s my turn! _Mine_! So just shut up! Shut up, shut up, _shut up_!”

“Ishi!”

All at once, the world is silent. Ishi’s stopped screaming, his heart has stopped racing, the fire has stopped burning. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, the high of the adrenaline still buzzing in his veins. He’s calm, in control, feeling very much like Kiyotaka. _Oh shit._ He checks his hands, his arms, his face; frightened that he might be dreaming, that he’s back in the darkness...

He’s not. He’s still here. He’s still...

“Ishi?”

Tears well in his eyes at the sound of his name. Glancing up, he sees the familiar face of the biker. He sees the recognition in his eyes, the acknowledgement of who it is he’s speaking to. _Ishi_ , not Kiyotaka. And suddenly, Mondo’s moving; grabbing Ishi’s hands…

“Mondo, stop! You can’t…” Kuwata’s voice barely registers as the biker pushes Ishi’s fists against his chest. “W-what…”

“It helps. Don’t it, Ishi?”

Ishi blinks, staring helplessly up at the boy in front of him. Gentle warmth trickles from Mondo’s fingers into his skin, reaching his veins and pumping the sensation up his arm and into his chest. He wants to rip his hands away, curse the boy out and leave. But he’s frozen in place, drunk on the feeling of recognition. His fingers flex before he can stop himself, curling gently into the material on the biker’s chest. He nods and it brings in a lop-sided smile onto the biker’s face.

“Didn’t think I’d see ya again so soon.”

“Hmm.”

“Ya feeling okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Ya need to listen to the Doc for a sec. That okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. Go ahead, Doc.”

Following the biker’s gaze, Ishi finds the eyes of the Doc. They feel warm, caring, kind. He tries to find the strength to read deeper, find the hidden malice behind them, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Mondo asked him to listen, so that’s what he’ll do.

“Ishi?” Her voice is as soft as her eyes. “Was that Kiyotaka you were shouting at earlier?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he locked away?”

“Yeah.”

“Was that your choice? To lock him away?”

“No.” The woman nods, taking a second to think. “Are you going to make me go back in there?”

There’s something new in the Doc’s eyes now. He’s seen this on plenty of people’s faces in the past but never up close. People look at Kiyotaka this way all the time, but never at him. No one has ever been sad for him.

Not until last night. Not until Mondo reached him.

“No.”

“Why?”

“I want you to listen to me carefully. I will _never_ force you away. It is your right as a _person_ to be present, to exist, to have your turn and call the shots. You are very much _alive_ , very much _real_ and no one should _ever_ tell you that you are any less of a person just because you share a body with someone else.”

Ishi can feel his bottom lip quivering pathetically at her words. Something in his chest awakens, buried deep down in the furthest part of his heart. It breathes out a sigh of relief, humming happily and stretching its arms wide. It engulfs him, flickers emotions in his gut that haven’t been there for as long as he can remember…

“I want to help you, _both_ of you. I want to help take away the anger that you have, everything that you’ve held tightly for all these years. I want to help Kiyotaka be just as brave and strong as you are. I want help you learn to live with one another as equals, help you learn to co-exist and never feel the need to lock each other away again. I want you _both_ to stop being in pain, learn to enjoy life, be happy, _exist_. And most of all, Ishi. Most of all, I want to get to know you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry this has taken such a long time - I'm here to explain why.
> 
> I just wanted to start this off with this: I am not a medical professional, nor am I a sufferer of DID. I don't pretend to be. So I know that I'm going to get things wrong, or misrepresent, or possibly even offend with this. I hope that the latter is not the case, but I'm not going to pretend that it isn't a possibility.
> 
> What I do want people to know is that I am taking this condition very seriously. I've done a lot of reading into it to get the best representation of this condition that I can and write something that is as accurate and respectful as I could possibly make it. The last thing I want is to offend anyone with this story because it has been buzzing around in my head for years and years and it would destroy me if I found out that I've caused someone upset by my ignorance.
> 
> I've not had anybody criticise me on my work because of this so far, which is awesome of course, but this particular chapter has just kind of made my hyper aware to what could be perceived. So please, if I have offended any of my wonderful readers so far, I truly and sincerely apologies. It was never my intention and I hope that you can find it in you to forgive me.
> 
> That was all that I wanted to say - sorry to make it so heavy! This chapter being the diagnosis really made me struggle internally with this, which is why it's taken so damn long to write and edit!
> 
> Oh also, I now have tumblr! Using my old account again, and haven't really figured it out properly yet. But if you fancy a chat, or wanna share your thoughts, or teach me how to use the damn thing, come find me at emiefaunwrites 
> 
> As always - thank you so much for reading (including this essay of an A/N!) Much love x


	11. Chapter 10

Following his diagnosis, Kiyotaka has _not_ had a good time.

He’s had to sit and listen to Dr Hanata tell him that Ishi is an individual and should be treated with the same respect he would give to others. That Ishi manifested for a reason; one that has been repressed for far too long and has resulted in his protective nature being twisted into hatred and anger. That Ishi isn’t going to just go away and that he would be naïve to think it that it would be as simple as that.

Kiyotaka understands this. He really, _truly_ does. But that doesn’t mean he likes it.

How _can_ he? He shares a body with a boy that is the polar opposite of _everything_ he stands for. Ishi is vulgar, impulsive, disrespectful, _violent_. Kiyotaka has trained himself to be perfect, and yet Ishi is so absolutely _imperfect_. How can _anyone_ begin to think that accepting this will be easy?

And yet they seem to think that way. They seem to want to act as if nothing is wrong, but they aren’t even doing a good job of it. They look at him with smiles that don’t quite reach their eyes, talk to him with words that don’t quite ring true. Try to act that it’s _normal_ that sometimes he’s Kiyotaka and sometimes he’s Ishi. It _isn’t_ normal and he just wants them to acknowledge it.

And besides, _why_ does he have to let Ishi out? Sure, he’s happy to acknowledge that he’s there and for him to voice his opinions; he can at least filter those out should his opinions be disrespectful or upsetting. But Ishi broke the rules. He acted out violently towards Mondo, throwing a punch just because he didn’t like what was going on. It’s _exactly_ what he warned Dr Hanata about and he should be punished for his actions.

But Dr Hanata was insistent that punishing him by holding him back will only do more damage. That means that whenever Kiyotaka feels the signs, he has to give in and willingly step into the darkness. Just so the rude, obnoxious boy can take his place and try to convince the world that nothing is different. That he is still Kiyotaka Ishimaru, a boy with manners and respect for those around him, rather than the uncontrollable, egotistical delinquent that is Ishi.

Suffice to say, it’s been _far_ from easy. Since having the ‘free pass’ from Dr Hanata, Ishi has been forcing his way forward every chance he gets. Over the last two weeks, Kiyotaka has lost count of the amount of times they’ve switched in the middle of a lesson; coming to hours later because Ishi either hasn’t learnt how to keep the screen on when he’s not there or simply leaves him in the void on purpose. And when he goes back to check his notes, he isn’t surprised that Ishi hasn’t taken any so he’s left with incomplete sentences or math equations without the explanation. He’s meant to be focusing on his education, on getting into politics to clear his family name, but all he can do is go along for the ride and hope that Leon took sufficient notes for him to copy.

Kiyotaka feels his heart drop at that thought. Things have changed between him and Leon. Before Ishi presented himself, he honestly thought he may have found his first friend in the redhead; someone that finally seemed to understand some of the difficulties he’s been through in his life or at least sympathised enough that it made it seem like he understood. But now there’s a new discomfort that falls whenever he’s in the boy’s presence. One that he can’t shake, no matter how hard he tries.

Bruises may fade, but memories last forever. And a friendship can’t be built on a damaged foundation.

Ishi doesn’t help the situation either. He quite clearly has a strong opinion about the redhead and, being the outspoken character he is, doesn’t keep it a secret whenever he’s in control. Kiyotaka sees flicker of fear in Leon’s eyes whenever he enters the room; how he tries to figure out who he’s interacting with and quickly plastering a smile on his face when he realises that Ishi’s not there to comment on everything and anything he does.

But what Leon doesn’t know is that Ishi is _always_ there. He is _always_ making little comments about the boy. How pathetic he is, how annoying his voice is, how fake his personality is. How he would much rather Kiyotaka go spend time with Oowada, because _of course_ Ishi has taken a shine to the biker. He’s so cool, he’s so badass, he’s so strong. _Everything_ is about Oowada and Leon is constantly under scrutiny for hiding behind a weak, gentle persona whenever he’s in Kiyotaka’s company.

It’s exhausting. Everything is just so freaking _exhausting_.

“What about this?”

Kiyotaka huffs in annoyance as his eyes lift, seeing the redhead holding out some hideous item of clothing. Yet _another_ compromise that he has been forced to make. It seems that Ishi has complained to Dr Hanata about the outfits in his wardrobe; saying that they’re ‘too nerdy and shit’. Apparently he wants something to ‘show off his own personality’ and he can’t do that with what he has available, so has demanded that they purchase something that is more ‘him’.

So of course, Kiyotaka has been expected to bend once again and go against his ideals. No one listened to him when he told them that he doesn’t _need_ new clothes. He is a student, a _great_ student. And, as such, he should dress like a student at all times. Ten identical uniforms are all he has ever needed up until now, and all he had ever planned to need until his time in Hope’s Peak Academy was over.

But it seems that Ishi has lured them in; hook, line and sinker. He _needs_ to take Ishi into consideration. He _needs_ to be compassionate. He _needs_ to compromise. It’s _important_.

And so here he is; walking around a shopping centre with Leon and Oowada, ‘trying’ to compromise…

_I fucking love them!_

_Of course you do_ , Kiyotaka thinks to himself, feeling his nose crinkle in disapproval at the pair of jeans Leon’s holding up. He’s being _generous_ to even call them jeans. The legs have so many holes in them that they barely look functional. The colour seems to drain halfway down, as if someone ran out of dye and couldn’t be bothered to finish the job. And to top it off, chains dangle down from inappropriate places and Kiyotaka can just tell that they’d catch on everything and anything, probably making even more holes!

Who in their right mind would be caught dead in them?

_I want them. Buy them_.

“No.”

The usual flow of expletives explode in his mind but Kiyotaka stands firm, even as another disappointed look falls on Leon’s face. They’ve been at this for an hour and, unsurprisingly, they’ve gotten nowhere. Everything that the boys have shown him have been so far from anything that _he_ would ever wear. Ishi may be his own person but, at the end of the day, it’s _Kiyotaka’s_ body. _Kiyotaka’s_ reputation. He won’t allow anything that could tarnish the image he has worked hard to build, no matter how hard Ishi kicks and screams.

Compromising goes both way, after all.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“I was _sure_ this is what Ishi described…”

“They are vulgar.”

“What, these? No way! They’re amazing! I have a few pairs of them myself!”

_Now there’s a surprise_ , Kiyotaka thinks to himself miserably. Of _course_ Leon says he likes them. It’s the one thing that Ishi actually appreciates about Leon. _He may be a drip, but he wears some bitching clothes_. Kiyotaka doesn’t know why he’s surprised; Leon’s a boy that clings onto the ‘rock-and-roll’ lifestyle to try and hide his own insecurities, wearing clothes and accessories that frankly do him no justice at all. It’s the face that Ishi wishes Leon kept on at all times, the one that strikes a chord with his own chaotic nature.

But Kiyotaka prefers it when Leon shows his gentler side, no matter how irritated it makes Ishi. Even through today’s awkwardness, he’s found time to appreciate the fact that Leon’s decided to tone down his outfit. Plain white t-shirt with plain, _complete,_ blue jeans. No fuss, no gimmicks. Casual yet acceptable. Kiyotaka thought that compromising would mean that he would end up in something more like this. He could cope with this. But no, Ishi demands it should be _his_ way and won’t bother with the give and take. Why won’t he even _try_ seeing things from Kiyotaka’s point of view?

_Because fuck you, that’s why._

“Are you _sure_ he doesn’t like these?”

“He _does_ like them.”

“Huh? But you said…”

“At no point have you asked me whether Ishi likes what you show me. If you were to ask me that, I would have been honest and told you yes; he has liked everything he has seen. But you asked if _I_ was willing to purchase them. And the answer is no, I will not buy _anything_ that has been shown to me so far.”

“What the _fuck_?!”

Oowada’s voice roars from behind him and Kiyotaka isn’t surprised to see that it’s caught the attention of a few innocent shoppers. The biker has absolutely _no_ concept of public decency. He’s been huffing around all day, making snide comments about Kiyotaka all day and it isn’t difficult to come to the conclusion that he would much rather if Ishi was in control. Because, of course, Oowada prefers _anyone_ who breaks the rules, swears as often as they breathe and want to be a complete menace to society…

“Are ya tellin’ me that we’ve been walkin’ around here all _fuckin’_ _day_ all for no fuckin’ reason?!”

“It hasn’t been all day, dude…”

“That ain’t the fuckin’ _point_!”

“Yo, stop swearing! There’s children here!”

The biker huffs, pushing past Kiyotaka roughly to stand in front of Leon. Before the redhead can react, the jeans in his hands are ripped out of his hands. And before Kiyotaka can react, they’re shoved in his face. Pushing them away with a splutter, he meets angry lavender eyes and he can’t stop his own brow from furrowing in response.

“Yer buyin’ these.”

“No, I am not.”

“Why the fuck not?”

_Yeah, asshole. Why the fuck not?_

“He likes them, don’t he?”

“And?”

“The fuck d’ya mean ‘ _and_ ’? We’re buyin’ clothes for _Ishi_ , not _you_. So ya don’t get a say in what he buys…”

“You are wrong.” Kiyotaka’s voice is sharp as he takes a step forward, squaring off defiantly against the biker. “I think you will find that it is _my_ money that we will be using to purchase the clothing. It is _my_ body that will be wearing them. And it is _my_ reputation that will be tarnished by walking around looking like a hooligan. So I think I very much _do_ have a say in what _I_ will be purchasing today. So I would appreciate it if you stop shouting at me and used your brain for a second if it is not too much hassle!”

Oowada looks ready to snap; eyes bulging, neck muscles protruding dangerously, face red as he tries unsuccessfully to hold back the rage that clearly consumes him. Kiyotaka wonders whether he should be frightened of him, but thinks better of it. The boy is a bully, plain and simple. If he can learn _anything_ from Ishi, it is that bullies should not be pandered to. They should be knocked down a few pegs and to back down would only be a sign of weakness.

_Like you could take him! Mondo’ll beat the shit out of you!_

“Okay, okay,” he hears to his side, feeling a hand pulling him away from the situation. “Let’s all just chill the fuck out, yeah?”

Kiyotaka finally rips his eyes from the boy in front of him to the boy to his side. Leon looks so tired, clearly fed up of the fights that _always_ break out when Kiyotaka and Oowada come into contact. But he’s trying to smile, trying to lighten the mood as he drapes his arm over the hall monitor’s shoulder. His mask is firmly in place as he tries to be the boy Kiyotaka wishes he wasn’t. The one he has nothing in common with. All for the sake of keeping up his ‘cool’ front in front of Oowada.

“Look, why don’t we try and find something that _you_ will wear? Will that be better?”

_Hell no, it’s not better! Sort your shit out, dickhead, and let me choose my own fucking_ clothes _!_

The words screech in Kiyotaka’s head, piercing his thoughts and slicing deep against his skull. It’s so sharp that he finds himself crying out, his hand unconsciously grabbing the side of his head as he tries to ease the pain that feels like his head is splitting. This is just _another_ reason to hate Ishi; how easily he can render Kiyotaka useless when he’s having a temper tantrum. Just another way of getting whatever he wants, whenever he wants.

He doesn’t have to see the two boys to see that the mood has changed. There’s hushed curses, whispers of confusion, reassurances that he doesn’t have to carry on if he doesn’t want to. And sure enough, when he finally manages to unravel himself and glance at them both, they’ve both got looks of panic on their faces. Even Oowada has retreated; holding his hands, and therefore the jeans, up in surrender as if Kiyotaka’s about to strike.

So much for acting like nothing is wrong. They’re treating him like a ticking time bomb, ready to explode. He thought this was what he wanted, for people to act as frightened as he feels about this whole situation. But now that he’s seen it, now that he knows just what they really think of him, it turns out that this feels _worse_.

_Just buy me my fucking clothes, bitch!_

“Fine,” he snarls, much to the surprise of the other two boys. Shrugging Leon’s arm off his shoulder abruptly, he rips the jeans out of Oowada’s hands. “I’ll buy the damn jeans.”

“No, Kiyotaka, you don’t…”

“Shut up.”

They do. At least, he _thinks_ they do. Kiyotaka’s stormed off so fast that wouldn’t be able to hear them even if they had reacted. All he can hear is Ishi’s satisfied chirping over the pounding of adrenaline in his ears. He’s gotten what he wants and all of a sudden, his personality does a full one-eighty. He’s gone from angry to ecstatic in a matter of seconds.

_Hell yeah! Oh, while you’re at it, get the other stuff too_.

Kiyotaka scowls as he circles back, grabbing _everything_ that he’s refused already in this shop. _Fine_. Ishi doesn’t care about what he thinks. Leon and Oowada don’t care about what he thinks. _No one_ cares about what he thinks. And if people don’t care about his feelings, then _fine_. He’ll just do whatever the hell they want; wear the stupid clothes, look like an idiot and maybe, _just maybe_ , they’ll be satisfied.

_No, that’s not everything. You missed the flame shirt. Go back._

Why did he _ever_ think that his feelings mattered? No one has ever cared about him in the past, so why did he think they’d started now? He’s an Ishimaru, after all. He has no value, no opinion worth considering. The only thing he’s good for is as a punching bag or the butt of a joke. He’s heartless, a robot, an annoying, pathetic excuse of a human being, just like everyone has always thought…

“Hey, stop! Wait up!”

He feels the hand on his arm, feels his feet stop moving, but his anger doesn’t even falter. His blood is hot in his veins as Leon spins him around, the air in his lungs thick as it pushes itself through his clenched teeth. He can see the kindness in Leon’s eyes, the look that always brings him a sense of ease. But today, it just fuels the fire.

“What?!” he snaps, too furious to care about how Leon winces.

“You need to calm down, okay?”

“I _am_ calm!”

“Okay, okay. You’re calm. Let me just…”

Kiyotaka doesn’t get the chance to react as Leon’s moving forward, hands digging into the ball of clothes that he’s got crumbled against his chest. His brain isn’t functioning properly, too fuzzy with rage that his fingers automatically let go. And then they’re all a bundle on the floor, forgotten and irrelevant, with only Leon left in front of him.

“Let’s just forget the clothes for now, yeah?”

_No fucking way. You’re buying what I want._

“I said I’ll buy them.”

“Yeah, I know. But...”

“So what’s the problem?!”

He can feel his voice rising, feel his fingers clenching into fists at his side. His vision is starting to blur, cheeks suddenly damp with tears. He can feel the gazes of everyone around him, hear the whispers between them as they judge him from afar. Ishi’s saying something distantly but he can’t hear it over the roaring in his ears and the pounding of his heart.

It’s so loud, so intense, all too much…

“Hey, let’s just get out of here, okay?”

Leon’s hands are on his shoulders. His fingers are moving, gentle pressure against the tense muscles. Kiyotaka can see his face reflected in the ice blue eyes and the boy he sees is ferocious. The sharp lines of his face seem even sharper, the deep lines in his brow even deeper. His mouth is a straight line, lips pinched and white with pressure. And the eyes that his mother once loved are alight, burning with a fire he’s only seen in one person before…

“Come on. Trust me, yeah?”

_Ugh_ fine _! Leave them then. Just…go before I change my mind._

Kiyotaka only nods in response, letting the redhead direct him away from the gazes of curious passerbys. He hears him calling out to someone, likely Oowada, but they leave the shop by themselves. He doesn’t ask where they’re going. He doesn’t honestly care. He just hopes that he’ll find some peace.

No such luck. He’s being directed to an open-plan coffee shop, one that offers no quiet areas for him to try and compose himself. If he had any sense, he would insist that Leon finds them another place to sit. But he’s beyond sense; just moving on autopilot, stood on the edge of a complete and utter meltdown.

“Water for you, right?”

He doesn’t answer. If he opens his mouth now, he’ll deteriorate. Ishi is still chattering in his head, some nonsense about how he needs to calm down and breathe. _Hypocrite_ , he thinks to himself sharply. It’s because of _him_ that he’s like this in the first place…

“Okay, just sit down and I’ll be right back.”

Kiyotaka does as he’s told. He’s always been good at that; following instructions and behaving the way that society expects him to act. It’s something that brings him stability, something that makes him feel somewhat calm. To have completed a set objective, no matter how trivial, never fails to give him a rush of accomplishment.

So it’s what he tries to settle on as Leon returns. Rest into that sensation and let it take over the complicated emotions that threaten to escape. Focus on the smile on Leon’s face and let it replace the image of Ishi in his mind. Fall into his kind eyes and let it wash away the venomous words that rest against his tongue.

“Feeling better?”

“A little.”

Leon’s smiling again, even brighter than before. His smile, his _real_ smile, is infectious. Kiyotaka can’t stop the corners of his mouth twitch upwards ever so slightly and lets himself be warmed by the gesture. He’s seeing the real boy for the first time all day and things finally start making sense again.

“Here. I got you some water.”

_Great. Another episode of ‘Who is Kuwata today’. Can’t fucking wait._

Ishi’s words are cold in his mind, halting the calm before it’s fully formed. His outstretched hand clenches into a fist before it reaches the glass, dropping empty against the table. Kiyotaka can’t bear to see the confusion that crosses Leon’s face, can’t take the drop in that happy smile. So he drops his eyes instead, hoping Leon will just let it go.

But he doesn’t.

“You okay?”

“Mmhmm.”

“You sure?”

“Mmhmm.”

_Oh go on. Tell him it’s my fault. Everything’s_ always _my fault, isn’t it?_

_Yes_ , Kiyotaka thinks to himself miserably. It’s Ishi that’s gotten him worked up in the first place. If he hadn’t insisted on pushing Kiyotaka’s buttons, insisted on things that he knows will frustrate him, then they wouldn’t be in this position. He would be back in his room, studying hard for the classes he’s missed out on.

But even despite that, Kiyotaka knows that Ishi will always speak his mind. He will always voice his opinion and try to convince Kiyotaka that his way is the _right_ way. Most of the time he’s wrong. Most of the time, Kiyotaka can ignore the snide comments in his mind about the only boy he’s ever thought he had a chance at befriending. But this time…

_The kid’s got more faces that a town clock. Go on. Tell me I’m wrong._

“Stop it.”

His voice is a whisper, so quiet he isn’t even sure he said it. But the tightness in his throat says otherwise. Ishi laughs in his head, starting on a rant about how Kiyotaka _never_ listens and how he really should. He knows best, after all. If Kiyotaka could _just_ take a leaf out of his book and learn to read the signs, maybe he’d be doing better in life…

But for once, Kiyotaka _is_ listening. And Kiyotaka _does_ start to see the signs.

He goes over each second he’s spent in Leon’s company in his mind. There’s two distinct personalities that he’s seen; cool and popular versus kind and considerate. Which one does he see the most? Confidence, arrogance. When does he act different? In front of Kiyotaka, only when no one else can see him…

_You see what I mean? Which one is the real Kuwata, huh? Can you tell me that?_

“Huh?”

“I said, stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Everything. Just…stop.”

If Kiyotaka thinks about it logically, it makes sense that Leon simply _is_ that boy. The one that laughs at the misfortunate and flirts with all the girls. The one who smokes and drinks and doesn’t care about the consequences. He’s the popular boy that Kiyotaka tried to believe was just an act. That’s who he is most of the time after all…

_See! I’m right! Glad we’re finally on the same page. Now, let’s just tell him to stop trying so damn hard and just…_

Maybe Kiyotaka got it wrong. Maybe Leon’s just pretending to be kind. Maybe he’s going away and laughing with the others about his secrets. Spreading nasty rumours about how he goes to therapy, how he has panic attacks in the middle of the night, how he _tricked_ Kiyotaka into thinking he cared.

_Wait, what? No, you’ve got it wrong…_

He’s such an idiot! How could he not see what was right in front of him? How could he have fallen for it again, after _everything_ he’s been through? His chest seizes up as the embarrassment rushes over him, eyes filling up with humiliated tears. _Don’t cry_ , he thinks to himself. _Don’t let him see you cry_...

“Hey…”

There’s a hand on his. Leon’s. And it _burns_.

“I said _stop_!”

Kiyotaka’s voice echoes out, bringing an eerie stillness throughout the shopping centre as he slaps Leon’s hand away. All of a sudden, the rage from before is back, burning hotter than ever. His blood is boiling, heart is pounding at the abrupt rush of adrenaline. Lifting his gaze, he meets surprised eyes. But as he looks closer, he can see it’s not surprise. It’s something a little different. And that makes him even angrier.

“What the hell was that for?!”

“Drop the act! Stop pretending that you’re someone you’re not!”

_What are you doing?! This is_ not _what I meant!_

“Huh?!”

“Don’t play dumb! I’ve seen through your lies and you can’t fool me anymore!”

“ _The fuck_?!”

Leon’s on his feet in a second, voice erupting from him at an incredible volume. His fist is clenched in front of his face, knuckles white and body shaking. The false gentleness in his eyes has disappeared, replaced by a fury that matches his own. This is a new mask, one Kiyotaka hasn’t seen before. _Here he is_ , he thinks. Here is the _real_ Leon Kuwata. Just like Ishi warned him.

_This is_ not _my fault! Just stop and think for a sec!_

“The fuck is _that_ supposed to mean?!”

“Stop pretending you care!”

“What the _fuck_ are you talking about?!”

“Why would a boy like _you_ care about someone like me?!”

_Dude, stop!_

“’ _A boy like me_ ’?!”

“You don’t like me! You’ve _never_ liked me! So why are you bothering?! The only reason you would do it is if you have something to gain!”

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me?!

“Is it because you want to impress one of the girls you’re always bragging about?! Or have you got a bet with Oowada?! Which one is it?!”

_Stop being a dumbass! You’re gonna ruin…_

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?! I’ve been _nothing_ but nice to you for weeks! And what do I get?! All your _bullshit_ thrown back in my face! Jesus, I _knew_ you had problems, but I didn’t know you were such a…”

“ _Go on_!”

Kiyotaka screams, slamming his hands down on the table in front of him as he stands up abruptly. Ishi is _begging_ him to sit down, think things through, but that’s the problem. Now that he’s looking at Leon, he can see just how good an actor he is. Even now, he’s trying to slip his old mask back on, trying to back away from what he was going to say, trying to fool him with guilt and those eyes of his.

But Kiyotaka won’t back down. He plans to expose him for the liar that he is. No matter the cost.

_Kiyotaka, stop this right now!_

“Say it!”

_Fucking_ look _at him! He’s going to…_

“Don’t be such a damn coward!”

_No, Kiyotaka, don’t!_

“ _Say it_!”

“Such a fucking _freak_!”

Kiyotaka sees red and in that moment, he loses all sense and time. And when he can see once more, Leon’s head has whipped around and there’s a stinging pain on the back of his hand as. His chest heaves, his eyes are overflowing, a loud ringing in his ears. Ishi curses loudly in his head, clawing for control, but he won’t get it. Not this time. _Kiyotaka’s_ in control now.

“What the fuck happened?!”

Oowada’s voice barely cuts through the tension, his footsteps loud and fast as he races towards them. The two boys stay as they are, with what feels like a thousand pairs of eyes bearing down on them both. The biker is straight over to the redhead, babbling nonsensical words in his direction, but Leon doesn’t answer. He just turns back to face Kiyotaka, holding his cheek with a venomous look in his eyes. But as the haze of madness starts to dim, it’s easy to see that it _isn’t_ venom. It’s badly hidden betrayal.

_Oh dude. You fucked up big time._

It’s now that the regret starts pouring in. It’s now that the guilt starts to set. Kiyotaka took this whole thing way too far. He got caught up in his emotions, his insecurities. He let Ishi get under his skin _again_ , let him twist his thoughts into knots just to get back at him. He needs to fix this. Kiyotaka opens his mouth to apologise…

Something wet hits him square in the face. It’s warm and slimy, barely missing his mouth as he snaps it shut reactively. He’s felt this far too many times in his life; so often that the feeling of spit is almost familiar. And knowing that Leon is the culprit of this newest attack breaks his heart.

“Fuck you, _Ishimaru_.”

And then he’s gone. Leaving Kiyotaka stood pathetically in his wake with no one but Oowada and countless frightened shoppers. His last words weigh heavy in his mind, the tone of his voice ripping through his chest. This is _his_ fault. Everyone will know who he is. Everyone will have seen how he treats people without provocation. They’ll know how volatile his is, watch him spiral out of control just like his grandfather. They’re talking about him under their breath, he can _hear_ them, hear everything they say about him and his family, _oh please God no_ …

“Yo, ya alright?”

_No. You’re not. Get out of there. Now._

“Shut up.”

“Huh?”

_Don’t tell me to shut up, you stupid dick._

“Leave me alone.”

“Hey, Ishimaru…”

_If you know what’s good for you, you’ll listen to me and get the fuck out of there. Before this whole thing gets worse._

“Get out of my head.”

“Yo, yer speakin’ out loud…”

_D’you have any idea how fucking ridiculous you look right now? I’m doing you a favour! Get the fuck out of there and calm the fuck down!_

“Get out of my head!”

“Oh shit…”

_Do you want to ruin your reputation even more? Is that your plan? Because you’re doing a really good job of it all on your own. You say I’m the one that ruins your life? Look in the fucking mirror. I’m not the failure._ You _are!_

“Shut _up_! Just shut _up_! Why are you always _talking_?! Why can’t you just go away and leave me alone! Get out of my head and leave me _alone_!”

“That’s it.”

A large hand slams itself over Kiyotaka’s mouth, muffling the screams that flow out of him. His fists slam down on Oowada’s wrist but to no avail. And then his chin is yanked upwards, forcing his gaze into furious eyes and a jolt of fear shoots down Kiyotaka’s spine

“Ya need to shut the fuck up,” Oowada whispers. “Right now. Got it?”

His voice is almost more frightening at this volume. It makes Kiyotaka’s knees weak, his body buckling underneath him as his hands grab pathetically at the biker’s arm for stability. But the biker doesn’t move, doesn’t respond at all. Kiyotaka nods furiously, whimpering as he tries to hold himself up. And finally, Oowada’s body relaxes just a fraction.

“Good. Now, yer gonna come with me. An’ yer gonna stay quiet. An’ then yer gonna tell me what the fuck happened with Leon. Ya hear me?”

More furious nodding with only a single nod in response. And then he’s free, falling backwards at the sudden lack of contact. He goes to yelp pathetically but Oowada’s grabbed his wrist and he’s moving. Pulled away at an incredible speed, the world a blur around him as his feet move almost without his consent. He hears the biker shout something to the onlookers but can’t make it out.

Then it’s silent. And he’s pushed to the floor, cold and damp and his back hits something solid. Glancing around him frantically, he sees that he’s in a toilet stall. Oowada’s not in sight, but he can hear him; slamming every other door open until he’s satisfied. When he’s finally back in sight, Kiyotaka watches as he locks the door behind him.

And then he kneels down in front of him with a new look on his face.

“Okay. Now talk.”

_Sorry Mondo. I need to talk to him first._

Kiyotaka tries to speak, tries to warn Oowada, but the words are garbled. They stick to the top of his mouth, each syllable tangible as they form and drop out into his hands. He can see the shape of the biker but there’s no features, just a mesh of colours where he should be. He tries to fight it, tries to resist just for once, reaches out for Oowada…

And then he’s in the hallway. It’s dark, but he knows he’s here. His knees finally buckle and he hits the wooden floor, gasping desperately for air. His hand still reaches out, trying to find Oowada, Leon, _anyone_ here in the darkness. His head is spinning, he feels sick, everything just feels too much…

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Ishi watches as the raven-haired boy at his feet peers up at him, a terrified look in his eyes. It’s never gotten to this point before. He’s never felt the need to bring Kiyotaka here before they swap. But this is a fucked up situation, one that Kiyotaka brought upon himself. Like hell is he leaving him alone here while he’s still in this state and he sure as fuck isn’t going to face Mondo while he’s still angry.

“I…I…”

“You lost your shit out there. You know that right?”

“I…I can’t…”

“Don’t you _dare_ go blaming me for this fuck up. I’m not gonna let you weasel your way out of this one by just saying ‘oh, it was all Ishi’s fault’. This was _all_ you, got it? You got yourself in this mess, you understand me?”

“I can’t…I can’t breathe…”

He’s hyperventilating. Of _course_ he is. This is what Kiyotaka’s like when Ishi isn’t around. He overthinks, works himself up and starts panicking. He truly is useless on his own. Ishi sighs, sitting down in front of the boy on the floor; resting his chin on his knee impatiently.

“You’re fine. Just breathe.”

“I…I…”

“Stop trying to talk. Just shut up calm down.”

Ishi watches as Kiyotaka’s breathing slows, watches the colour comes back to his face, and thinks about everything leading up to this moment. The boy in front of him is so strong in so many ways, but he has so many weaknesses. He feels everything as though it’s the first time he’s ever felt it, takes every little thing and bottles it up, never lets it show. Usually Ishi is the one to digest all those unfelt feelings, biding his time to release the accumulation in one fell swoop. But it seems like today, it all became too much and Kiyotaka finally snapped on his own.

He knows that _this_ is his job, to protect Kiyotaka from feeling this way. The boy clearly has no means of processing these feelings on his own. But their relationship is so fucked up, broken into so many pieces that it may never fix itself. Sure, Ishi _tried_ to stop the boy from lashing out at Kuwata but he wouldn’t listen. He took his words and moulded them into his own insecurities, found genuine moments of happiness with the redhead and tarnished them in a fit of blind rage. But did he do enough?

If he’s really honest with himself, then no. He was angry. Kiyotaka snubbed him, stopped him from getting what he wanted. Ishi is stronger than Kiyotaka, there’s no contest on that, and if he _really_ wanted to stop him then Kiyotaka couldn’t have stopped him. He can tell himself that he tried his hardest, tried to convince the other boy to stop. But he could have done more. He should have fought harder, forced his way to the front and stopped Kiyotaka from ruining the only real friendship he’s ever had.

Sure, Ishi doesn’t like Kuwata. That’s no secret to anyone. The kid’s got no idea who he wants to be. He tries to be this cool guy, pretending that he’s strong just like Mondo. Shows off for all his ‘friends’, trying to be a bastard because that’s what those kind of people like. And if Ishi’s learnt anything about Leon Kuwata, he _needs_ people to like him as much as fish need water.

But Ishi can see how much the boy holds onto doubt, clinging onto it like a safety blanket. To everyone else, they see this cool, smooth façade, but Ishi knows better. He sees it in his eyes when he thinks people aren’t looking. Kiyotaka was right; the boy wears a mask, one so heavy that it’s grinding him down to the bone.

That’s why Kiyotaka likes him. Because Kuwata is the pinnacle of weakness and the raven-haired boy gravitates towards someone that feels the same way that he does. Kiyotaka has been alone all his life, suffered things that no boy should experience because of his elders, and finally he’s got someone that’s the same. Ishi doesn’t know what Kuwata has been through, but whatever it is, it resonates with Kiyotaka.

They could be good for each other. And Ishi will do everything in his power to make sure that Kuwata’s friendship is not ruined. Not that he would _ever_ admit it out loud.

“Why am I like this?”

Kiyotaka’s voice is so small but the words seem to fill the whole room. They hang in the void, whispering over and over again until they disappear into nothingness. And then there’s silence. Terrible, heavy silence.

Ishi doesn’t know the answer to the question. He wishes he did. Kiyotaka’s had a hard day, and Ishi is under no illusion that he is desperate for something. And he wishes, honestly and truly wishes that in this moment, he could give Kiyotaka even a glimmer of hope.

But he can’t, and so he does what he always does; he tells the truth.

“I don’t know.”

“I just want it to stop.”

“I know.”

“I hate you.”

Ishi knows this. He’s felt the hatred in Kiyotaka’s heart every day for so many years. He won’t lie; he’s felt the same about Kiyotaka. He’s wished that the boy who controls his body would simply vanish, leaving him to live his own life the way that he wants.

But life isn’t that kind.

“Yeah. I know.”

Kiyotaka peers up at him through damp lashes, lip wobbling dangerously. Even now he feels guilty, Ishi can see it. Kiyotaka is kind to a fucking fault; he can’t even _hate_ without feeling terrible about it. It’s so fucking infuriating…

“If it helps, I fucking hate you too.”

The raven-haired boy’s eye grow wide, almost insulted at Ishi’s declaration. But then he catches the smirk on Ishi’s face, one that slowly starts to form on his own lips. And then they laugh; filling the darkness and shattering the tension that always seems to linger. For the first time, Ishi sees the boy he knows Kiyotaka can be. Relaxed, imperfect, beautiful…

They come down off their strange high, small rolls of laughter falling out sporadically until they sit once again in silence. But this time, it’s much more comfortable. They watch each other, unsure of what to do next. And it’s Ishi that decides to break the silence.

“Look, about the clothes…”

“I won’t wear those jeans.”

“Yes I _know_ …”

“They look ridiculous.”

“Alright, I get the point…”

“Why can’t you just want to wear something _functional_? I don’t mind if you want to wear jeans or something with a little colour, but _those_ things? Really? Can’t you try to find something that won’t make me look like an absolute…”

“Hey!” His voice is sharp, snapping Kiyotaka out of his rant. “Shut the fuck up for a second and let me tell you my idea.”

Kiyotaka’s mouth snaps shut, eyes wide and nods. Ishi smirks softly at him before he goes through what he wants to say, the idea that he really should have had at the start of the day. The raven-haired boy listens intently, tears building up again as he nods at the right intervals. They come to an agreement, one that neither boy feels uncomfortable with. And at the end, when all is nearly said and done, Kiyotaka asks Ishi a question. One he’s never asked before.

“Will you go out there?”

“Why?”

“To talk to Oowada? I can’t…I can’t do it. Not yet. I just…I need time to think.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Kiyotaka nods, eyes dropping to his lap. Ishi still feels the nervousness, the guilt coming from the other boy. He knows that he’s relieving the last half an hour in his mind. In here, he can’t hear Kiyotaka’s thoughts. But he knows this boy inside out. There’s not much he can do now but take his place outside and let him come back when he’s ready.

Ishi sighs loudly, pushing himself to his feet and holding out his hand. It takes a few seconds for Kiyotaka to notice and when he does, there’s a look of surprise on his face. But he eventually takes hold, allowing Ishi to pull him to his feet. Ishi goes to let go, but Kiyotaka’s grip is tight.

“Will you leave it on?”

“The screen?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll try.”

Another nod followed by a deep breath. And then Kiyotaka lets got of his hand and is walking away, towards the heavy door. Ishi’s come to understand that willpower is what keeps it locked; the sheer determination of the one in the light. Kiyotaka’s willpower has been fading recently, probably because of the pressure that everyone has put on his shoulders to co-operate. It gives Ishi free rein of the room and the corridor, with no barriers to prevent him from taking over whenever he pleases.

But Ishi’s determination is strong. And that means that the door is locked tight. Without him in the room, everything fades into darkness; including Kiyotaka. So this time, he tries something new. For Kiyotaka’s sake, just this once, he wills the room to stay. As he walks into the light, as the door closes behind the raven-haired boy…

The door doesn’t lock. The screen doesn’t flicker. And Kiyotaka doesn’t disappear.

The world slowly comes into focus, Mondo’s features becoming clearer. He clears his throat, blinks away the fuzz. And then he’s settled, in control.

“Hey, Mondo.”

The boy is leant back against the wood of the stall, eyes closed and arms crossed. At first glance, it seems as if he’s fallen asleep. But at Ishi’s voice, he turns his head and their eyes meet. Ishi always expects there to be an element of uncertainty after a switch. But as small smile creeps onto the biker’s face, Ishi’s heart swells with the acknowledgement.

“Hey, Ishi.”

“How long was I out?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Shit. Sorry.”

“Nah, s’fine. All good?”

“Yeah. All good.”

Mondo hums in response, his eyes making it clear that he really wants to press about what happened with Kuwata earlier. But he and Ishi have an understanding. He’s learnt that Ishi will talk on his own accord and that pushing him results in nothing. And this is between Kiyotaka and Kuwata.

So instead, Mondo lets it go. Instead reaches out of the stall. And what he brings back is a shopping bag.

“So, I was thinkin’,” he starts, reaching a hand inside. “I know ya wanna start dressin’ more like yerself, which is awesome. But I know he was freakin’ out because of his reputation or whatever, which makes sense. It’s a huge deal to change so fast and from what I know of him, he don’t like drastic change. But we gotta find ya something better than that dumbass uniform an’ I’m sure he’ll appreciate that eventually. So…”

The bag crinkles as the object inside is removed and Mondo twists his body around to face him, holding it out in front of him. It’s a turtleneck jumper; long sleeved and woollen. A boring item in and of its own. However, the colour immediately jumps out at Ishi. It strikes a chord somewhere deep within and he can hear it screaming, calling out to him to claim the item as his own.

“I thought I would look for somethin’ that suits ya both,” Mondo continues. “Somethin’ that’s respectable or whatever, that won’t make people stare when he walk past. But somethin’ that says ‘I ain’t borin’, so watch out.’ An’ if ya ask me, red is _totally_ yer colour.”

_Can you see this, Kiyotaka?_ Ishi thinks to himself as the smile creeps onto his face. _Can you see what Mondo has bought us?_ And in response, from behind the closed door, he can hear him. He can feel the rush of emotion that overwhelms him. It’s so strong that it brings tears to his eyes and all he can do is laugh. Laugh like he did in the darkness and watch as Mondo’s smile grows in response.

“Ya like it?”

“Yeah. We like it. We really, _really_ like it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is - the next chapter. Sorry this one took so long - I lost a whole week when I managed to go on a quick break from work. But I've finally done it. I've finally managed to get it out. It changed quite a bit from my original concept. I love it when chapters do that. But I needed to get a bit of the more canon Leon in the fic. He is hotheaded and he does lose his temper quickly. But I put my own spin on it and I hope it worked.
> 
> I'm getting better and better with my Tumblr account! I actually got the inspiration for the flame shirt and the red turtleneck from someone on tumblr (https://monikamarkovova.tumblr.com) I would post a link to the picture but I'm not sure how! Always happy to chat to fellow writers, or Ishileon/Ishimondo shippers. So come give me a shout at emiefaunwrites.tumblr.com
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading. I'm always amazed when people enjoy my writing. Comments are always appreciated and make me feel nice and fuzzy, so please let me know if you're enjoying or if I can improve anything or anything at all! 
> 
> Thanks again! Much love x


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter:  
> \- Underage drinking  
> \- Panic attacks  
> Drink responsibly everyone!

“See ya ‘round, Ishi.”

Ishi nods, watching Mondo disappear into his room and closing his own door behind him. Clutching the bags in his hands, a sudden rush of happiness runs through him and he can’t stop his feet from bopping in excitement as he bounds towards the bed. And then he finally lets it all free; giggling to himself and throwing everything down onto the floor before flopping down face first onto the bed.

He’s just come back from spending the _entire_ day with Mondo; doing what they had set out to do that morning and finished clothes shopping. But the conditions of his and Kiyotaka’s compromise were kept firmly in place. Ishi promised that if he could own some of his _own_ choice in clothing, just a few, that he would only wear them when he was in their room, with people that knew about his condition, or late at night when no one could see him. In return, Ishi promised to stick to Kiyotaka’s rules; he’ll wear the shitty uniform _when_ he has to wear it and outside of those times, he’ll wear more conservative clothes so as not to ruin Kiyotaka’s reputation.

With these guidelines in place, shopping went a hell of a lot smoother than it had not an hour earlier. Mondo helped him find things that Kiyotaka liked, things that Ishi liked and a shit ton of stuff that they could _both_ agree on. Money was spent, much to Kiyotaka’s dismay, but Ishi managed to diffuse a potential kick off by convincing him that it was for a good cause. Kiyotaka _needs_ to learn how to socialise after all. People notice things. And wearing the same thing day after day can be an easy way to single yourself out; _especially_ wearing a school uniform on a weekend.

Loneliness is a weapon that Ishi is more than happy to utilise. He knows just how lonely Kiyotaka has been for his entire life and knows that it’s something that will almost guarantee a result. But if he’s completely honest with himself, Ishi’s no stranger to loneliness himself. Having spent most of his life trapped, with only purpose driven moments in the light, he hasn’t spent any significant time with anyone that doesn’t involve hurting them. So spending an entire day with someone who _genuinely_ seems to enjoy his company is something that he would never have imagined.

And it was fucking _awesome_. Mondo is everything that Ishi has ever wanted to be. They laughed and joked and swore, much to Kiyotaka’s annoyance. They grabbed fast food, which Kiyotaka was adamant they shouldn’t do but _fuck him_ , they went to the arcade and played some games and then when they came back, Mondo showed him his motorbike. They _would_ have gone on a quick spin, but Ishi knew he’d pushed his luck with the burger so he settled on listening to Mondo tell amazing stories of gang life with the promise of a rain check on the bike ride. And by the time they’d made it back to their rooms, it was dark and almost curfew and Ishi was left feeling happier than he’s ever felt his whole life.

Today could not have gone better.

Well, no. That’s a lie. The whole Kuwata situation probably could have been avoided. Kiyotaka was really upset about it, _is_ still really upset about it. Ishi doesn’t need to ask to know that. The boy would have tried to ask for control by now if he wasn’t, which he hasn’t done. Even some of his arguments during the day were more subdued than normal, with some things being ignored entirely. So the guilt is obviously still haunting him and Ishi isn’t sure when it will resolve itself.

But at the end of the day, it _did_ give them some kind of ‘moment’. Ishi’s not a pussy and doesn’t really _do_ the whole soft shit that Kiyotaka seems to like. But he won’t deny that they both needed that conversation. They’ve both been jackasses to the other over the last two weeks, both tried to push each other’s buttons or ignore each other’s wishes just out of spite. It really _did_ need to stop, they both knew it, but neither could really find a way to broach the situation without offending the other and making it all so much worse.

So yes. The fight wasn’t the best thing in the world for Kuwata. But it did _them_ the world of good and at the end of the day, that’s all that really matters.

And like he said, he’ll fix it. _Eventually_.

_Are you going to try on some of the clothes?_

Ishi grins to himself, spinning around into a sitting position almost faster than he can blink. Kiyotaka may have put up a fight earlier about new clothes, but even he can’t deny that he’s excited now that he has them in his possession. This is the first time they’ve worn anything other than a uniform of some variety in as long as Ishi can remember…

_I will admit that this is somewhat exciting. But you cannot deny that I look respectable in a uniform._

Ishi snorts, rooting through the bags for the first item of clothing. Kiyotaka’s definition of ‘respectable’ is _vastly_ different to his own. Kiyotaka wants fuddy-duddies to respect him; people with too much responsibility and zero personality. Ishi wants people like _Mondo_ to respect him; cool guys who throw caution to the wind and do what the fuck they want, whenever they want. They wouldn’t be caught dead in something as ugly as a uniform.

_Ishi, I have just admitted that I am excited to see what the new clothes will look like. Can you not at least try to have the decency to compliment my clothing in return?_

“Nope.”

_For the sake of having an enjoyable evening, I will pretend that you did not respond. Now please, let us move on and try on the clothes._

And that’s how the next couple of hours are spent; with Ishi trying on each and every item that he bought, swapping different things around to find which items make the best outfits. Kiyotaka tries to butt in with his opinions, but frankly he knows _fuck all_ about fashion and Ishi is perfectly happy to educate him on the knowledge he lacks. There’s multiple arguments over whether certain items are to be put in the ‘acceptable’ category, which means that something that could have taken an hour takes triple the time.

When he’s all finished, Ishi’s left in an outfit of his own design. A white t-shirt with a graphic skull, which Kiyotaka reluctantly agreed to once he realised that it was very similar to something that Kuwata wears on almost a daily basis. A red tartan hoodie because Mondo said red was his colour and Kiyotaka couldn’t argue with that, especially since he’d gone out of his way to buy him something. A pair of black jeans with a couple of rips in the legs because Ishi managed to convince Kiyotaka that holes are less of a hazard than the chains on the other pair of jeans he was torn between. And finally an oversized, black beanie hat because sometimes Ishi’s head gets cold and Kiyotaka cannot _possibly_ stop him from keeping warm.

_You look ridiculous_.

“Shut the fuck up. I look badass.”

He _does_ look badass. It’s true, and no one can ever tell him otherwise. But, for once, being badass _isn’t_ the important thing. What’s important is that he doesn’t look like the pompous, stuck up hall monitor that he so often has to pretend to be for the sake of appearances. This is _his_ personality, head to toe, no doubt about it. There isn’t even a _hint_ of Kiyotaka in the boy in the mirror.

For the first time, Ishi is looking at his reflection and seeing _himself_ looking back.

A small smile creeps onto his lips as he gently rests his hand against the glass. _This is me_. A tiny chuckle tumbles out and the tears spill over, a warm feeling spreading through his chest. But almost immediately, he sees a new thing in the mirror; something that he hates to admit he feels. _Weakness_.

_No_. The tears are wiped away as fast as possible, all the soft emotions stomped on and turned to dust. What the _fuck_ is wrong with him? He’s stronger than this. Crying is for babies, for _weak_ people. He isn’t weak and so he won’t cry at something this stupid.

_Why do you think that?_

“Fuck off.”

_Crying is not a weakness._

“You tell yourself that if it makes you feel better.”

He hears Kiyotaka grumble insignificantly, but the boy doesn’t try to reason with him. _Good_. It’s about time that the boy learnt that Ishi’s right pretty much _all_ of the time.

_That is not true. There is just no point arguing with you right now. It would be like speaking to a brick wall._

Ishi’s teeth grit in annoyance at Kiyotaka’s words. Why does he have to be like this? Why can’t he just leave things alone? Why does he always feel the need to have the last word or make it out like Ishi is always in the wrong?

_I do not mean to do that. I just wanted to defend myself._

“Yeah, well, don’t.”

_But we cannot carry on…_

“The fuck did I just say?!”

There’s a heavy sigh followed by silence. Ishi waits, expecting another smartass comment from Kiyotaka, but nothing comes. Only the buzzing of anger in his mind. He takes it upon himself to try calm down, taking deep breaths like Dr Hanata has been trying to teach him. It used to work for Kiyotaka after all; before Ishi decided to use his full strength, that is. And Ishi is the better of the two of them. So if it works for that stuck-up bastard, it should work for him. _Right_?

Wrong. This doesn’t help _at all_. It feels as if there’s more air in his lungs to scream out, more oxygen rushing to his brain to fuel the fire. His fingers dig into the porcelain of the sink, teeth sinking into his lower lip, almost enough to draw blood. He keeps trying and failing and trying and failing and trying and fucking _failing_. And all that’s happening is it’s getting worse and worse, he’s getting angrier and angrier, it’s bubbling and about to burst…

“Fuck this. I’m going out.”

He announces it loudly to the air, pushing himself out of the hunched position he’s found himself in and out of the bathroom. Kiyotaka squawks in surprise, babbling about the rules and curfew but _fuck that_. Ishi’s in control now and he’ll do what he likes. No one can _ever_ tell him what to do. And what he needs right now is some fresh air and not to be in this stupid room and this stupid school.

_But the clothes…_

“Like anyone will see us at this time of the night.”

_But…_

“I’m going out and you can’t fucking stop me.”

The other boy doesn’t try anymore. Ishi puts on the first pair of shoes he can find that aren’t Kiyotaka’s ridiculous stripper boots, which Kiyotaka has vehemently argued are _not_ stripper boots, and leaves in silence. And almost instantly, Ishi feels relief wash over him like a wave, dousing the fire in his stomach until it’s nothing more than a flicker.

_Are you feeling better?_

“Yeah.”

_Good. Where were you thinking of going?_

“Nowhere special. But I want some time to myself. That okay?”

_Sorry, what?_

“I just want some fucking privacy. That too much to ask?”

_No. But you never usually ask my permission. You normally just shut me out without my consent._

“Whatever. I’ll call you back in a bit. So fuck off for a bit, will you?”

The words ring out into the empty hallway and, even though Ishi wasn’t expecting much, his mind suddenly feels empty. He tries calling out for Kiyotaka again but the boy doesn’t answer. He can’t sense him at all; him nor the room he’s locked in. _Rude bastard_. All high and mighty about manners and doesn’t have the decency to sign off properly.

But he’s gone now. Ishi’s alone. And it feels wonderful.

He takes his time as he meanders towards the stairs that lead to the ground floor. But the closer he gets, a strong stench of cigarettes hits him in the face, immediately turning his stomach slightly. It’s not like he’s never smelled cigarettes before, and he’s certainly _not_ against them, but even Ishi will admit that it isn’t a pleasant smell. It’s a blessing that they don’t share any other sense apart from sight because Kiyotaka would kick the fuck off if he knew that someone was smoking on school grounds. He _really_ can’t be dealing with that shit right now.

As he makes his way down the stairs, Ishi notices the significant drop in temperature. He doesn’t need to see the door to know that its open so finds himself unsurprised as it comes into view. The sound of traffic from the main road is a low hum in the background, like music to his ears and he’s drawn towards it like a moth to a flame. On the way, he notices a few splashes of liquid on the smooth, tiled floor. But it’s unimportant; all that matters is the feeling he gets as he steps out into the night.

The breeze is gentle on his face, soothing any remaining tension that his body was holding. With a deep breath, he feels the cool air fill his lungs; a welcomed sensation in comparison to the stagnant air of the school behind him. Ishi knows that Kiyotaka values education more than anything in the world, but _fucking hell_ , it’s his own worst nightmare. Give him any excuse to step out into the real world, even if it’s just for a moment, and he’ll grab it with two hands.

He _belongs_ here; in a world that lets him run free. And Kiyotaka belongs _in there_. Only one of them can win and sadly, Ishi feels like this won’t be a battle he can win.

Before he gets the chance to truly appreciate the evening, a clattering sound catches his attention. Turning his face to the right, he sees a lone figure sat in the darkness. A plume of smoke engulfs them, obscuring their features for just a second. But once it clears, it doesn’t take long for Ishi to recognise the mop of red hair on the boy’s shoulders.

“Kuwata?”

The boy in question sniffs loudly, rubbing his face with the hand not holding a cigarette. As he blinks rapidly and turns his face towards Ishi, his hand drops down clumsily; creating another set of clatters that is now obvious as the sound of glass bottles. For a second, Kuwata doesn’t seem to recognise him and he squints his eyes almost comically. Once the realisation hits, there’s a loud groan and his face turns away once more.

“Ah _great_ ,” he says, words slurring out as if speaking is a great effort. “S’you. The fuck _d’you_ want?”

As the redhead speaks, a new smell assaults Ishi’s sense and it catches him slightly off-guard. This is far stronger than the cigarettes; a sour, stale smell that makes him want to retch. But of course, Ishi won’t let his body betray him with something as ridiculous as a bad smell. Now that he’s turned his body fully, Ishi spots the four bottles at Kuwata’s side; two empty, one open and the other untouched. He can’t make out what the label says, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.

“Are you _drunk_?”

Kuwata doesn’t even need to answer. Ishi has enough evidence by just _looking_ at the boy. His eyes are lidded, clouded by intoxication as he tries to focus once again on Ishi’s face. His cheeks are flushed, head lolling helplessly on his neck as he tries to hold still. He sniffs loudly once more before bringing the cigarette back to his lips and speaks around the smoke as he exhales.

“Fucks it gotta do with _you_?”

Ishi is _so_ glad that Kiyotaka is not here to see this. Even through the raven haired boy’s rules and regulations, he finds ways to make exceptions to the things that Kuwata does because it feels right in the moment. That is something that has _never_ happened before. Kuwata has _no_ idea just how important he is and what he could be capable of if he stopped being stubborn for a goddamn second. He is something that Kiyotaka relates to more than anyone else; the boy that seems to feel things the way that he feels, that comforts him in a way that Ishi has never been able to do.

But look at him now. He’s a mess; a stupid, drunken, fucking _mess_. And Ishi is _not_ going to stand for that.

“Are you fucking stupid?” he snarls, gritting his teeth angrily at the dopey smirk the crosses the redhead’s lips. “D’you have _any_ idea what kind of trouble you’d get into if someone found you?”

“ _Well_ ,” Kuwata drawls, dropping his chest to rest against his knees and pointing the cigarette in Ishi’s direction. “ _You’ve_ foun’ me. ‘M _I_ in trouble?”

How the _fuck_ is it that this dumbass is so quick witted in his drunken state?! _Breathe, Ishi_ , he thinks to himself as his blood pressure rises in his veins. _You told yourself you’d fix it, didn’t you? Take advantage of this situation and fucking fix it._ With a deep breath, he grounds himself back down, relaxing his fists that clenched at his side and stares down the smug boy in front of him.

“No.”

“ _Sweet_!” the redhead sings, taking a swig from the bottle to his side. “More drink fer _Leon_!”

“Nope. Can’t let that happen either.”

Ishi moves fast, ripping the bottle skilfully out of Kuwata’s less than dexterous fingers as he goes to take another swig. Kuwata wails drunkenly and reaches out, seeming thankfully to forget the unopened bottle to his side. _Small blessings_ , Ishi thinks to himself as he side steps away from the boy’s sluggish grab. And within a few seconds, he’s batted the half-finished cigarette onto the floor and crushed it underneath his shoe whilst simultaneously tipping the liquid onto the floor.

“The _fuck_ you _doin_ ’?!”

“Saving you from getting expelled, you fucking asshole. Now pull yourself together and get up.”

“Fuck _off_.”

“I told you to get up.”

“An’ I said _fuck off_.”

_Give me fucking strength_ , Ishi thinks angrily to himself as he grabs Kuwata by the wrist. He knew the boy wouldn’t have the brainpower to actually fight back, but it seems he uses his situation to his advantage. The bastard goes _deadweight_ as Ishi tries to pull him up and off the ground. There’s a flurry of curses on both sides and Ishi’s anger starts to bubble under the surface, the temperature slowly rising the longer Kuwata resists his help…

But after a particularly rough tug, Ishi loses his balance. His feet slip on the grass beneath him and he’s falling backwards; landing roughly on his ass with an ungraceful thud. Kuwata blinks a few times, almost uncertain of what just happened. And then he laughs, toppling over onto his side as he’s overcome with hysteria.

The fire in Ishi’s stomach burns white hot, all sanity threatening to escape him as he glares daggers at the idiot in front of him. _Breathe, Ishi. Just breathe_. He knows needs to step away, remove himself from this situation while he still can. Otherwise this _bastard_ will end up with no teeth and a new skin tone of black and blue.

But he can’t. He promised himself he would fix things for Kiyotaka. And if there’s anyone he won’t break a promise for, it’s himself.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snarls, unsure if Kuwata even hears him as he gets back to his feet.

“You fell _down_! So _dumb_!”

“Are you even fucking listening?”

“Your face was _amazin_ ’! It was like ‘ _oh shit, I’m falling_ ’!”

“Kuwata?!”

“ _Fuck,_ I’ve a stitch! Ow, ow, ow!”

Ishi is so angry that he feels sick, every nerve in his body on edge as the redhead splutters broken laughter. _How dare he ignore me?!_ How dare he ruin this perfect day with his dumbass antics that will end up getting them _both_ expelled at this rate!

This _asshole_ is not worth all this. He’s not worth the pain and guilt that Kiyotaka has spent the entire day feeling. He’s just another asshole; one that doesn’t give a shit about anything but himself. Who cares if he gets in trouble over this? Certainly not Ishi.

Fuck it. He’ll break a promise. Just this once.

“Fine,” he spits as he starts to walk away. “Get expelled then. I don’t know why I fucking bothered. Guess you’re not worth my time, after all.”

“The fuck is _that_ supposed to mean?!”

Seems like the redhead was listening after all; the laughter coming to an abrupt halt as Ishi finished his sentence and a fully formed sentence leaving his lips. Well, it’s too goddamn _late_. Ishi’s made his decision and he’s a stubborn bastard. _Nothing_ will change his mind, especially not this drunken piece of shit. So he continues to walk, planning on heading around to the other side of the school; away from everything and _everyone_ and finally get some peace and quiet. Just like he wanted to do in the first place.

There’s a sudden stinging feeling in the back of his head and it takes him a couple of seconds to realise that something has just hit him. _What the fuck?_ Looking back over his shoulder in irritation, he’s surprised to see that Kuwata’s on his feet; swaying unsteadily with venom in his eyes. Ishi drops his gaze quickly to the floor, seeing bottle cap at his feet. _Of course_ , he thinks as he brings his glare back up. _Even drunk, this dick can still use his talent perfectly_.

“Answer me, _asshole_!”

“Why should I?”

“You fucking _owe_ me!”

“I don’t owe you _shit_.”

Kuwata moves; stumbling forward at a speed that would hurt if he made contact. Any other person would have been caught by surprise; tackled to the ground by a drunken idiot who, now he’s enraged, managed to convince his brain to control his legs to move at full speed. But it’s no surprise that the redhead is _no_ match for him. Ishi twists his body deftly, side stepping effortlessly as the redhead barrels right past. And before Kuwata can right himself, Ishi’s caught his ankle with his foot and he’s toppling head first into a nearby bush with a yelp; all without taking his hands out of his pockets.

Ishi wonders why the fuck he’s still wasting his time. Perhaps it’s the satisfaction of seeing the boy who spat on Kiyotaka struggle. Ass dangling in the air with about as much grace as a new-born deer. _Yeah, that sounds about right._ So he stays; watching Kuwata desperately try to remove himself from the bush. It takes a few minutes; branches tangled in his red hair as he flops down onto the ground with a grunt.

Now that the rush of adrenaline has run dry, the boy’s _definitely_ succumbing to the effects of the alcohol once again; body swaying, eyelids drooping heavily again as he tips his head back on his shoulders. Even his words have started slurring again, all mingling together as he chunters nonsense to himself. If Ishi was a weaker person, he’d feel almost sorry for the redhead. But he’s not weak. He’s strong.

“You’re fucking pathetic.”

“Fuck off, _Ishi_.”

“Huh. Surprised you have enough brain cells left to tell the difference.”

“Of _course_ it’s _you_.”

There’s a tone. A hint of _something_ in Kuwata’s voice. Something that Ishi doesn’t like.

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“You’re a _prick_.”

Ishi opens his mouth to retort, but something deep inside tell him to stop. To give the boy a chance to speak his mind. This could be the only time he ever feels compelled to do so, after all. So he stays silent, waiting patiently before Kuwata starts up again.

“ _Yeah_. You’re…you’re a _prick_. A prick that thinks of no one, _no one,_ but _himself_. You make his life _miserable_. An’…an’ you don’ even _care_! You know, it’s _your_ fault he got mad today. _You_ wind him up an’ make him crazy. An’…an’ _you_ make him angry. _Yeah_. You’re a _prick_. You’re _such_ a _fuckin’ prick_.”

Ishi isn’t exactly sure where this is going. It’s taken the boy a good couple of minutes to get the words out, stumbling over himself constantly as his mouth moves too fast for his drunken brain to keep up. He’s half tempted to stop listening; wait for the sounds to stop before he makes his next move. But when a small smile creeps onto Kuwata’s face, Ishi makes the decision to keep listening.

“But _he’s_ not. Nope, _he’s_ not. He’s _nice._ An’ he’s _kind_. An’…an’ he _cares_ about me. An’ _stuff._ You know? Yep. _Yeah_. He’s a _nice guy_. I like him. He’s…he’s my _friend_.”

Kuwata hiccups, body slowly sliding sideways as he takes a brief break from his rant. His eyes have closed, his head lolls forward, all soberness disappearing entirely as his body seems to relax. Ishi thinks he should probably do something to help, but he doesn’t. There’s still more he has to say, and Ishi’s going to let him speak.

“He jus’ lets my…my _brain_ go quiet _._ Jus’ fer a bit. It’s nice. Bein’ quiet is _nice_. An’ I’m _so tired._ I’m _tired_ of bein’ _loud_ an’ so _happy_. But he _gets_ me. He jus’ wants me to be…to be _me_. You know? An’…an’ I wish I could do that. Jus’ let go all this _shit_ inside. An’ be the _real_ me. Heh. _Yeah_. That’d be nice. Jus’…jus’ be me. Jus’…jus’ fer a bit…”

As the boy trails off, Ishi realises that he’s no longer angry. There’s no longer a burning hatred when he looks at the boy. Instead, as Kuwata’s head finally meets the ground, Ishi feels an incredible amount of pity toward the poor boy. He’s just confirmed everything that Ishi already knew about him, admitted how fake his personality is. And yet, instead of feeling triumphant, Ishi feels almost empty.

Every word that Kuwata said could have so easily come out of Kiyotaka’s mouth. Because Kiyotaka has been trained to be the perfect puppet for those in authority to manipulate. He speaks like a robot, walks like a robot, behaves like a robot. _Anything_ to make sure that he will come across as perfect.

But he’s not. His brain may function in patterns and numbers, but Kiyotaka is _not_ a robot. Without the pressure, Kiyotaka would talk normally. He’d stand normally. He’d behave normally. He’s so far from perfect it hurts and no one can see how hard he’s trying. No one can see how much it hurts. No one can see just how _tired_ he is.

Ishi has heard that alcohol can make a person honest, deep seated secrets that they aren’t prepared to admit sober. So, even though this could be some elaborate play, he’s pretty sure that Kuwata hasn’t got the brains to pull it off. That would suggest that feels the same way that Kiyotaka does. That would means his gut instinct was right. And that would mean that this wasn’t a waste of time and it _was_ something he needed to fix.

But Kuwata called Kiyotaka his friend. His first ever friend. So maybe it never needed fixing.

Ishi’s thoughts are interrupted by a low rumbling sound and it doesn’t take too long to realise that Kuwata has started snoring. That _can’t_ be a good thing. This will need to dealt with in stages. And stage one is to get Kuwata back inside.

“Fuck sake,” he mutters, bending down to pull the redhead’s arm over his shoulder. Hooking his own around the boy’s waist, he adjusts his balance before starting to lift. “Come on, pisshead. Let’s get you back.”

Kuwata mumbles incoherently, managing to find some strength in his legs to support the smallest amount of weight. It’s just enough for Ishi to guide him slowly back inside and towards the staircase. He knows he’ll need to come back and sort the bottles out. The cigarettes can be forgiven; _everyone_ smokes on the grounds at the end of the day. Even the teachers know that. But drinking is a whole other matter and will _not_ be looked upon kindly.

It’s when they make it to the bottom of the staircase that Ishi sees the first downfall of his plan. In the condition he’s in, there is _no_ way that Kuwata is getting up these stairs using his own feet. It looks like the only way it’ll happen is if he’s physically moved. And that can only mean one thing.

An irritated growl falls out of his lips before he can stop it. _Chill, Ishi,_ that annoying voice of reason deep inside tells him. _This is for Kiyotaka_.

“Yeah, yeah,” he answers himself in annoyance, twisting his body to face the redhead. “I know. Sorry about this, Kuwata.”

If Ishi thought he was heavy earlier, then this is a _whole_ new level. The boy feels like he weighs a _ton_ as he’s flung over Ishi’s shoulder; arms dangling pathetically as they ascend. _Fucking hell,_ how can someone so skinny weigh this goddamn much?!

The trek is slow, unstable. But thankfully it’s short and as soon as he’s able to, Ishi gently drops the redhead back down; carefully making sure that his balance is back before moving once again. Staring down the corridor, he tries to decide on his next course of action: whether to take the drunkard back to his own room or look after him in Kiyotaka’s room.

“Feel sick.”

Well. There’s the decision made. Kiyotaka’s room is significantly closer and at the speed they’re managing to move, Ishi can’t afford to lose any time. He cannot be doing with cleaning up anything _else_ this evening. No matter how much kudos he’ll earn with Kiyotaka, there are some things that he just won’t do. And cleaning up after someone’s been sick crosses that line.

“Don’t you dare throw up.”

“’M _fine_.”

“Good. Because I swear to fuck. If you do, I’ll…”

Ishi doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Kuwata’s mouth opens and it _all_ comes out. Messy and disgusting, spilling hopelessly down his chin and onto his clothes before pooling around his feet.

“ _Jesus Christ!_ ”

Holding Kuwata away from his brand new clothes, Ishi can do nothing but wait for it to end; breathing in and out through his nose as he forces himself not to throw up himself. All the while, he silently curses everyone and everything that has led to this moment. but most of all, he curses Leon _motherfucking_ Kuwata; the idiot who’s got vomit _all_ down him and is now looking at himself as if he has no idea what has happened.

“Shit…”

“Shut up. Just move.”

“’M sorry.”

“ _Move_.”

“Mmkay.”

All patience is lost as they make their way to Kiyotaka’s door. There’s no more gentleness in Ishi’s movements as he drags the sodden drunkard forward, propping him against the wall by his one clean shoulder as he unlocks the door. Kuwata tries to say something but Ishi’s frankly had enough of his bullshit and doesn’t try to understand the garbled phrases pouring from his mouth. And as soon as the door is open, he forces the redhead in roughly before slamming the door.

As Kuwata flops to the ground, Ishi is about ready to burst. Not only has he got to deal with the mess this asshole made outside, but now he’s on cleaning duty in the fucking _hallway_. He’s going to have to get this dumbass undressed, _redressed_ and in bed; all of this with the chance of another fucking wave of vomit that _he’ll_ have to clean!

But just as he’s about to lose it, his conscience tells him to keep calm. There’s no use getting angry with someone in this state. It might make it _even_ worse, and it’s already fucking terrible as it is. _Just do the easy thing and get on with it_. So he takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the combined stench of cigarette smoke, alcohol and vomit, and takes a step towards the boy on the floor.

“You need to get out of those clothes.”

“Wha’? _Why_?”

“Firstly, you fucking _stink_. Secondly, you’ll get cold. So stop whining and get them off.”

There’s a few grumbles but thankfully not much more than that. Ishi watches painfully as Kuwata’s fingers fumble around the hem for a few seconds before deciding to take matters into his own hands. Pushing the useless hands away, Ishi grabs the material roughly and barks out an order. And like a child, the redhead simply lifts his arms as commanded, allowing Ishi to drag the dirty t-shirt up and over his head.

“Jeans too. Undo the buttons.”

“Hmm.”

Ishi busies himself with undoing the boy’s laces, knowing damn well that he’ll need to undo the buttons as well. But he’s immensely grateful when he hears a happy grunt and a small popping sound. _There’s a God after all_ , he thinks to himself as he tugs roughly at the shoes, throwing them next to the bin which will soon contain most of Kuwata’s clothing. And when the redhead is propped up against the bathroom door in nothing but his boxers, Ishi knows it’s about time to move to the final stages of the evening.

“D’you feel sick?”

“No.”

“Sure?”

“…no.”

“Sit up.” Kuwata complies hopelessly; his body dropping forward as Ishi pushes open the door behind him. “Get to the toilet. Stay there until I come back.”

“Wh…where you goin’?”

“To clean up your mess. Now move.”

There’s more unintelligible mumbling as the redhead shuffles himself backwards until his back hits the porcelain tiles between the toilet and the shower, shivering at the sudden cold on his skin. Ishi gives himself the one over, relieved to find that he narrowly missed any splashback, and turns himself towards the door. But not before spotting the small key that’s fallen out of Kuwata’s jeans pocket.

_He’s going to need clean clothes_ , Ishi thinks to himself as he eyes his bin. The boy will be either staying here for the night or going back to his room. Both require clothing and the ones in the bin are in no state to be worn again. _Great_. As he bends down to pick it up, he hears the sound of retching coming from the bathroom and his stomach turns. _Fuck this_. The key is swiftly pocketed and he’s out the door before the nausea has a chance to properly set in.

Looking down the empty corridor, seeing the mess that he will need to deal with, Ishi feels a headache brewing. It pools right behind his eyes and base of his neck, spreading like wildfire down his entire body. It catches him off guard, throwing his balance as he stumbles back into the closed door behind him.

This can only mean one thing: Kiyotaka _finally_ wants to come forward.

_Shit._ This isn’t good. He’s going to need to take action. The first thing he sees _can’t_ be Kuwata’s vomit. He’ll think something terrible has happened and start freaking out again. Ishi needs to break the news about the situation slowly, carefully.

So he runs; runs as fast as he can down the hall and towards the staircase. He knows full well that Kiyotaka will be angry if he catches him running in the halls. But fuck it. It’s better than the alternative.

He’s out of breath by the time he makes it to the bottom of the stairs, his lungs burning as he tries to gulp in the air around him. _Nearly there_. But, of course, that’s when it hits. The light around him flickers, blinding one second and then sudden darkness. And once he can see again, he’s being pulled backwards; watching as the raven haired boy steps into the light before the heavy door slams shut.

Kiyotaka’s first instinct is to get a bearing on his surroundings, but that’s quickly replaced by how out of breath he seems to be. He glances backwards quickly, checking to see if he’s being chased. _No._ He checks his body for any obvious injuries. _No._ And by the time he can finally determine that he’s still on school grounds, he can feel that Ishi has settled back after the transition.

“What’s happened?”

_Okay, don’t panic. Everything’s fine, right? But…you kinda need to head outside_.

“Why? What have you done?”

_I didn’t do anything! Jesus, why is that your instant reaction?!_

“You’ve just told me I need to go outside. That to me sounds like you’ve done something.”

_Fuck you, asshole. Maybe if you listen once in a while, you wouldn’t be such a fucking hardass._

“You haven’t said anything yet!”

_Shut the fuck up for a second and I’ll tell you!_

And so Kiyotaka listens. He listens as Ishi explains it all. How he had planned to go for a walk and instead had found Leon drinking and smoking heavily. How they’d argued and somehow made up. How Ishi helped him up the stairs and back to their room. How he was on his way back to clean up the evidence, just to make sure that the boy wouldn’t get expelled.

Every instinct about rule breaking goes out the window at that thought. Ishi hasn’t even finished speaking before Kiyotaka’s heading to the cleaning cupboard; grabbing a black bag and putting the bottles and cigarette butts in before heading towards the main road to drop them off. He doesn’t hesitate to tidy the bush that Ishi indicates is the one Leon fell into, making sure there’s nothing left behind to indicate anything every happened.

The whole time that he works, he doesn’t say a word. He moves in silence, working quickly and effectively like he’s been trained to do. And, to his surprise, Ishi stays quiet too. As if he’s given Kiyotaka the chance to come to terms with the events of the evening at his own speed. Kiyotaka’s grateful at the thought. But the silence comes to an end as he’s about to head up the stairs.

_You’ll need to grab a mop._

“Dare I ask why?”

_There’s a bit of a situation in the hall upstairs._

“What happened?”

_Just get the goddamn mop._

Kiyotaka sighs, going to the cleaning cupboard for the second time that evening for the mop. A sense of dread fills his stomach as he makes his way to the tap, filling the bucket with cold soapy water. For a school so prestigious, Kiyotaka is slightly surprised that they can’t afford hot water for the cleaners. But he knows better than to dwell on it and instead, he makes his way back up the stairs; feet dragging slightly with anxiety as he reaches the final few steps…

“Oh my God…”

_Told you._

“What happened?!”

_He vommed. Like_ everywhere _. Fucking gross._

“Did it not occur to you to try and help him?!”

_The dude exploded without warning! What d’you expect me to do?! Throw my hand over his mouth and hope for the best? Or did you want me to catch it in my hands?_

“If it would have helped him, then yes!”

_No way! That shit’s nasty!_

Kiyotaka doesn’t respond, silently seething as he cleans up the mess. Ishi may have been hesitant on helping, but Kiyotaka has no issue helping others in need. He’s seen far worse than this at a much younger age. After helping his mother in her final months, he’s got a stomach of steel.

Thankfully, the task doesn’t take too long. Despite Ishi’s constant unhelpful comments, Kiyotaka now finds himself in a clean corridor; mop-less and exhausted. He has no idea what time it is, but he knows its way after curfew. He can head back to his room, check on Leon and go to…

_Nope. You’ll need to get him clothes._

“Why? What happened to his clothes?”

_Like I said. He vommed._ Everywhere.

“Oh.”

_Yup._

“Right. Okay. Did you pick up his key?”

_D’you think I’m fucking stupid?! Of course I did! It’s in your pocket. Maybe check next time before asking such dumbass questions!_

Kiyotaka goes to open his mouth to retort but is caught off guard by a loud crash inside his room. Alarm bells immediately go off in his head, scenarios of Leon lay on the floor with a head wound running through his brain. What on _earth_ was Ishi thinking leaving someone so inebriated in a room on their own?!

_What’s_ that _supposed to mean? I worked my ass off tonight for that jackass. So get the fuck off my back._

Kiyotaka’s done arguing. He’s at his door in a second, his own key in the door as quick as he possibly can. Ishi grumbles angrily in his head, complaining about everything will be fine. He needs to calm down. What’s the worst that could happen? The door swings open and Kiyotaka holds his breath, hoping that Ishi is right…

But he isn’t.

One of his shelves is empty and damaged; the contents strewn all over the floor, some smashed glass from something that clearly didn’t survive the fall. A few of his posters have ripped or been torn down. But thankfully, there’s no blood, no unconscious body on the floor. So that’s a good start.

Moving swiftly, Kiyotaka peers into the bathroom where Ishi said he last saw him but it’s empty. Cursing to himself, he spins back around, trying to think to himself over the beating of his heart. And that’s when he spots him; huddled between the desk and the bed.

_Oh shit._

Leon’s body is shaking; one hand scratching at his throat in desperation, claw marks trailing across his collar bone and chest. His breathing is ragged, far too fast and shallow, wheezing in and out of lungs that are severely overworked. His eyes are squeezed shut, tears and sweat pouring down his face as he tries to mumble something to himself. But whatever it is, it isn’t working; in fact, it seems to be making it worse. He cries out breathlessly, rocking back and forth, sobbing hopelessly.

Panic attack. Leon’s having a panic attack. And it’s a _big_ one.

_What the fuck do we do?!_

Kiyotaka ignores him, moving fast and kneeling in front of the redhead. His foot catches the side of the bin, knocking it over with a loud clutter. The sound seems to startle Leon and his body jolts; a look of terror in eyes unseeing that dart around the room. Kiyotaka holds his hands up in surrender, hoping that it will ease his panic at seeing a familiar face. But there’s no focus in the ice blue eyes. Only blind fear.

“Can you hear me?” Kiyotaka asks loudly, searching the boy’s face for any kind of response. But he gets nothing. “If you can hear me, you need to breathe, okay? I need you to breathe.”

Nothing. Leon’s too far gone to hear anything. Kiyotaka growls in frustration, face shoved into useless hands. Why can’t he do this? He told himself he would be able to help him when this happened, that Leon wouldn’t have to struggle alone anymore. He _promised_ himself he would help. So what is he supposed to do?!

_Don’t panic. Just think, okay?_

“I can’t…”

_Yes, you can! So think. Has he ever said anything to you? Any hint or clue about what might help?_

Yes. Yes, of _course_ he has. All those weeks ago, the night that they lost control, he and Leon were talking about this. About what he does when he’s on his own. About what he tells himself. About where he goes. Maybe…maybe if he uses that information…

“Leon?”

His voice is soft, kind, just like Leon’s always was when this happened to him. And it seems to work. Ice blue eyes bore into his own instantly, recognition dancing amongst the panic.

_Okay, that’s good_. _Keep it going._

“Leon. It’s me.”

“T-Taka?”

His name is broken, choked, as if it took an immense amount of energy to force out. And there’s no change in his expression, no less fear. But it’s a start; a very good start. Kiyotaka nods, shuffling slightly closer.

“Yeah. It’s Taka. I’m here.”

Kiyotaka sees Leon’s shoulders loosen ever so slightly, sees the relief in his eyes as he breaks down. His own chest tightens at the sight, tears threatening to spill as sadness overwhelms him. But that’s not what Leon needs right now. What he needs is someone who can take care of him when he needs it most.

“I…I can’t…b-breathe…”

“You’re doing great.”

“I…I’m scared…”

“I know it’s scary. But you’re safe. I’m right here.”

“Don’t…don’t leave…”

“I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through this together, okay?”

The redhead nods, gulping air that seems ever so slightly easier to breathe. Kiyotaka forces a kind smile, resting his hand gently on Leon’s knee; his skin sticky with sweat and slightly cool to the touch. And then his wrist is being crushed, squeezed between both of Leon’s hands. It hurts; the boy’s grip so tight it feels as if he could snap the bones. But that’s irrelevant information. So instead he rests his free palm against one of the hands, soothing his thumb across white knuckles.

“Can you remember your happy place?”

“N-no…”

“That’s okay. I can remember it. I’m going to help you get there. Is that okay?”

“O-okay.”

“I need you to close your eyes for me, okay?”

“O-okay.”

Kiyotaka waits, patiently waiting for Leon to gather the courage to squeeze his close his eyes again. As soon as he does, his nails dig harder into Kiyotaka’s skin, whimpering desperately when his grip fumbles. But Kiyotaka is prepared; slipping his palms in to rest against Leon’s clammy ones and allowing the fingers to lock in place around his own.

“There’s a field,” he starts, watching Leon’s face carefully with every word. Waiting for any sign that he’s made the wrong move. “A field with green grass and a blue sky. And there’s trees. Trees full of pink blossom all around. Can you see it?”

“Y-yeah.”

“There’s a breeze that catches the blossom. And they fly around in the air, dancing in the wind. Can you see them?”

“Y-yeah.”

“What else can you see?”

“Clouds…and…and birds…”

“That’s good. Can you hear the birds?”

“Yeah.”

“What else can you hear?”

“A river. And the wind.”

The deeper Leon falls into his imagination, the slower his breathing becomes. His eyes are no longer scrunched up, his words are slower, stronger. His body starts to relax, grip loosening on Kiyotaka’s hand.

_Holy shit, dude! It’s working! You’re doing it!_

“This place is wonderful, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s safe, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Keep picturing it. Keep picturing how quiet and calm and safe that place is for me, okay? Keep thinking how perfect it is. And how peaceful it is. And how it’s just you and the Sakura trees…”

“And you.”

The words catch Kiyotaka slightly off guard, cutting him off mid thought. He blinks in surprise, watching as the tension oozes from the boy’s face. He’s lost in the implication of the words until he feels Leon’s grip tighten ever so slightly.

“You’re here with me, right?”

“Yeah. I’m right here with you.”

As Kiyotaka looks at him, he realises that he has never seen the boy look this content. A tiny smile rests on the boy’s face, tears no longer flowing. His chest rises and falls gently, easily, all the strain in his body gone. And the mask that weighs him down every day is long gone.

Trust. This is what trust looks like. It makes his heart swell, makes the smile on his face even wider and the tears finally spill.

Eventually Leon’s eyes slowly creak open halfway to meet his own. Gazing easily toward him, they twinkle softly in the glow of the evening; reminding Kiyotaka of stars in the night sky. And then they drop to his chest, the smile on his face widens even more before they lift up once again.

“The fuck are you wearing?”

Kiyotaka frowns, dropping his gaze to his chest and seeing Ishi’s clothes on his body. The sudden realisation of what he looks like hits him like a truck, embarrassment making his face flush red hot. His head drops, forehead crashing against the back of his wrist as he groans out in shame.

“I look like an idiot.”

“It could be worse.”

“How?”

“You could be naked.”

“You’re right. So that makes _you_ the idiot, doesn’t it?”

There’s a brief silence before laughter rings out through the air, easy and carefree like a symphony and Kiyotaka can’t help but peek up. Underneath the hair that’s flatted against his face, Kiyotaka can see a boy that seems like he hasn’t laughed like this in his whole life. His whole body is consumed with it, his eyes squeezed shut above a smile that seems like it will split his face in two. It’s an innocence, a side of him that Kiyotaka suspects has been hidden away behind lock and key.

It feels as if the air has been ripped from his lungs. Or perhaps it’s as if he’s been punched in the gut. Whatever it is, Kiyotaka finds himself breathless; a warm sensation pooling in his chest around a heart that is beating as though he has run a marathon as he watches the boy in front of him. And there’s only thought left in his mind as his smile grows ever wider and laughter finally takes him over.

Oh wow. Leon is _beautiful _.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! So I finally managed to finish this! Drunken behaviour is actually quite hard to write convincingly! I hope I got it write - I went with lots of intonation on random words and the occasional letter drop in a word. And very short sentences with lots of stuttering and yeps. Haha!
> 
> Thank you everyone so much for your wonderful comments and kudos. Every little bit helps, and of course I love to hear from you all. Please feel free to leave a comment, or come and shout at me on my Tumblr (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/emiefaunwrites) - I love to chat to people and hear about your thoughts on my story or learn about your own stories!
> 
> ALSO! The most exciting thing happened after I posted the last chapter! Someone drew me some of the most amazing fanart! I've posted it to my own Tumblr account (link here: https://emiefaunwrites.tumblr.com/post/629804459297472512/so-today-the-most-wonderful-thing-happened-today) PLEASE PLEASE go show her some love for her wonderful art (https://redringleader.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I think that's it from me, folks. Have a wonderful day! Much love x


	13. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly 10K words...*wheeze* I'm so sorry!

They say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but Kiyotaka doesn’t necessarily believe that.

There are things in the world that have no other way to describe them other than the word ‘beautiful’. A clear night sky full of stars and a bright moon. The view from the peak of a mountain, rolling greenery and plump clouds in a sky of blue. A forest at night, brimming with fireflies that dance in between the branches and illuminate the leaves with a warm golden glow.

Then there are the more obscure things out there; things on the borderline between beauty and peril. Hurricanes, despite the devastation they leave in their wake, have groups of people that go hunting for them out of sheer fascination. Volcanos; a natural phenomenon so deadly and destructive and yet the colours of lava at its highest heat are magnificent shades of red and yellows. And the sea, deep blue and never ending, has the power to wipe out entire cities in the blink of an eye but its waters twinkle and glimmer delicately in the moonlight.

These things are untouched by mankind. They are all acts of nature and Kiyotaka _knows_ that nature is beautiful because it’s just a simple fact of life. Even if he himself doesn’t marvel these things, he can see beauty in them and that already contradicts the statement. But it’s mostly other areas that raises issues with the statement.

More specifically: people.

Kiyotaka knows that there are people out there that are known solely for their appearance. He’s walked past many a magazine stand, full of pictures of men and women that have been hired purely because they are considered ‘attractive’. He also knows how to pick out the popular kids in a classroom based on their appearance because, more often than not, Kiyotaka has found that popularity is determined on not only charm but with how a person looks. They dress a certain way, move a certain way, hold themselves in a certain way. He has never personally been able to appreciate these things the way he knows other people do, but it’s not beyond his ability to know whether a person is visual appealing.

But if you were to ask others what they thought of these people, they would never define that person as ‘beautiful’. They would choose words such as ‘hot’ or ‘sexy’; words that Kiyotaka has no connection with in the slightest. And that makes him think that these people don’t truly look for beauty in the world. They look for _sexual attraction_ ; a primal urge that he’s thankfully never felt himself and, quite honestly, hopes he never does.

Because for Kiyotaka, the true meaning behind beauty has been tarnished by modern society.

But there _are_ beautiful people out there. Kiyotaka knows this as a fact because he’s seen it with his own eyes. His mother was the most beautiful person he has ever known. She would light up a room whenever she walked in; a smile like the sun and eyes that drew you in. Her words would sing in your ears and burrow right into your skin, smooth like silk as they caressed your very essence. And the care and love that surrounded her like an aura was ever present, unwavering and relentless as if she herself was a natural phenomenon.

There wasn’t a person that knew her that could deny her beauty because, in simple words, _she_ was beautiful; not in appearance alone but in her _soul_.

And that’s where Kiyotaka thinks _true_ beauty lies; the soul. If a person’s soul is beautiful, then all those lucky enough to look upon them would be left breathless. Who _cares_ about what a person looks like? Appearances are fleeting and will wither away. But a soul will last a lifetime. A soul is what matters.

Kiyotaka used to hope that a part of his mother’s soul would stay with him. In the moments leading to her death, that was the one thing that kept him strong. It wouldn’t matter that her physical body was gone because she would be with him in spirit for all eternity. He prayed to a God he doesn’t believe in that when it was time for her soul to leave her fragile body, it would nestle deep in his heart and join his own. And maybe, just maybe, her beauty would live on in him.

But Kiyotaka _isn’t_ beautiful; not in any shape or form. He knows that girls don’t look at him with longing eyes, that boys want nothing to do with him. He is jagged and unbending, awkward and uncomfortable. His soul is murky, damaged, unworthy of being anywhere close to his mother’s perfection.

So when her soul left her body with one final breath and left him behind, Kiyotaka never became beautiful.

Did his mother lie to him? No, Kiyotaka doesn’t think she did. How can you lie if you believe something so deeply? What he thinks is that she was blind. Blinded by her own radiance and tried to reflect it onto her son. And to her, perhaps Kiyotaka was simply a mirror in which she confused her own reflection.

So how can he be beautiful if she never _truly_ saw him?

“Yo, Ishimaru. Ya alright?”

Kiyotaka blinks rapidly, focusing onto the concerned expression on Oowada’s face. The boy is sat on the floor and against the wall, legs crossed and phone in hand. Kiyotaka must have been staring, so lost in his thoughts that he simply zoned out. Not an uncommon occurrence these days considering his new diagnosis. But still a rude thing to do, regardless of whether he can control it or not.

Then he realises that his eyes are trained on the biker’s face. No, not just his face. His eyes. He’s been staring directly into Oowada’s eyes for a significant amount of time. _Oh no_. A deep flush creeps up his neck as he drops his gaze quickly.

“A-ah.”

“Oh shit, did I stop ya from switchin’?”

Kiyotaka shakes his head slightly at the question, unsurprised that Oowada has come to this conclusion. Slurred speech, unfocused eyes and headaches are the most obvious indicators that Kiyotaka is dissociating. He knows this because Dr Hanata taught both Leon and Oowada to recognise the signs and both boys confirmed that they’ve noticed these things. But it seems that Oowada is the one that has learnt to understand the signs the best, particularly in moments where is trying to hide it as best he can. He’s asked him countless times about how he knows, but only gets a shrug in response. And so it remains a mystery; one that only Mondo Oowada knows the answer to.

“Ishimaru?”

“N-No. I was simply…thinking.”

“Oh.”

“I apologise for staring.”

“Nah, its fine.”

An uncomfortable silence hangs in the air, clawing at Kiyotaka’s skin as he stares at the object in his lap. A blank canvas that should be the home of his art homework. They’ve been asked to draw a visual representation of what beauty means to them and the deadline is tomorrow. Homework is never really a problem for him and he always prides himself in putting his absolute all into any piece of work he’s given. There’s just one little problem.

Kiyotaka can’t draw.

His brain is riddled with numbers and logic; things that don’t really work when it comes to things of the imagination. So it makes sense that whenever he tries to picture an image of his own design, it’s replaced by equations and facts. To Kiyotaka, these things _are_ beautiful in their own way because they are constant. They are set in stone and not in the slightest bit subjective. But art is _entirely_ subjective, and Kiyotaka doesn’t know what to do with things that aren’t black and white.

He’s gone most of his life avoiding art. Thankfully, his previous school valued mathematics and science over art and music and that gave him the freedom to choose the topics he was more successful at. Here at Hope’s Peak, however, _all_ skills seem to be equally as important. Not only has the Ultimate Biologist walked these halls, but the Ultimate Artist, the Ultimate Musician, the Ultimate Actress. So to ensure that everyone gets equal opportunities, each student must attend _every_ class.

And Kiyotaka is a perfectionist. He’s a boy that never gives up on _anything_ to do with his education and becomes hyper-focused on getting every little thing just right. He’s stubborn to the point of tears, trying to learn every skill under the sun because he _needs_ to in order to achieve his goals. The fact that he can’t draw is a source of great anxiety, because what good is he if he isn’t perfect?

So now he needs to face this head on. He needs to excel in this just like he excels in all of his other classes. And to do that, he needs to learn to draw.

And _god_ has he tried. It’s evident from the grey smudges that mar the once pristine canvas that he has tried and failed multiple times over the last week. But, given that whatever he does need to be nothing less than perfect, it isn’t a surprise that he’s not been satisfied with whatever he’s managed to get down.

He’s tried _everything_. He’s tried drawing natural things. _Failed_. He’s tried drawing angels. _Failed_. He tried conjuring up a memory of his mother and tried putting it down in a picture. _Failed_. This is his _final_ attempt, the last day that he has to get the work done. What on _earth_ has he seen recently that he feels strongly enough about to draw it down?

An image appears in his mind. No, not an image. A memory. He’s back in the dim glow of his room, looking at the frightened boy that depended on him. He sees the smile that breathed life back into the room and hears the laugh that has been on repeat in his mind ever since. And gentle eyes of ice blue looking back at him as if he was the only person that mattered.

He wants to draw _that_ picture. The first moment of true beauty he’s seen in the world since his mother passed away. He brings the pencil down to rest against the course material on his lap, trying to transpose his thoughts into lines and shapes. But he can’t do it, he can’t _see_ it. All he sees are knots and tangles…

“Ya _sure_ yer not switchin’?”

Kiyotaka snaps back to attention, eyes darting rapidly over to Oowada once again. The boy has shuffled closer, primed and ready to take action should Ishi take over. A kindness very much unexpected from him and one that makes Kiyotaka feel slightly uncomfortable for reasons he’s can’t quite explain. So he nods, forcing a too-large smile onto his face.

“Yes. I am fine.”

“Yer actin’ the way ya normally do before Ishi comes forward.”

“I apologise. I was not trying to do that.”

Oowada clearly doesn’t believe him but doesn’t push the matter any further. Kiyotaka will admit that he has come to appreciate that the boy knows when to drop an uncomfortable topic. He didn’t think this was possible with how abrupt and rude he can be, believing the biker would be the kind of person to push and push and _push_ until someone reaches a breaking point. But he’s surprisingly empathetic, backing down from things that Kiyotaka really doesn’t want to talk about without argument.

“How’s the drawin’ goin’?”

“Ah.”

Kiyotaka’s eyes drop to the empty canvas in his hands, a trickle of shame tingling the tips of his fingers. Unfortunately, Oowada has not realised that this is _equally_ an unwelcome topic of conversation. Kiyotaka doesn’t like lying, but that is better than admitting to the biker that he’s not able to draw a simple picture.

“Yes. It is going well, thank you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Can I see?”

“No!”

The word is sharp, loud. The canvas brought defensively against his chest as all the anxiety Kiyotaka holds in him bursts to the surface. His eyes squeeze shut for just a second, heart suddenly racing in his chest and ears. But he realises what a spectacle he’s made of himself over such a simple question and forces his insecurities back into a box. Opening his eyes once again, he smiles awkwardly and tries to ignore the confused expression on the biker’s face.

“Ah. I mean…I have not finished yet.”

“Sure…”

That silence falls again, heavy and thick as the two boys stare awkwardly at one another. This is one of those rare moments that Kiyotaka wishes that Ishi was in control. Ishi seems to be able to speak a language that the biker relates to, one that’s almost effortless to everyone but Kiyotaka himself. One that makes his head hurt if he tries to think about it too much. It isn’t that he wants to stop being around Oowada. It’s just that he doesn’t know _how_ to be around him.

But unfortunately, Ishi has consciously decided to stay away. He said it’s out of the kindness of his heart so Kiyotaka can have a full, uninterrupted day. But Kiyotaka knows well enough it’s because of the homework. Ishi has no interest in school and so will always keep back on the days where homework is due the next day so that he can avoid the responsibility. He doesn’t even chance a snide comment here and there because that would give him the craving for more. And when Ishi gets that itch, Kiyotaka always finds himself in the dark in the end…

“Alright, look.” Oowada voice bites through the air, forcing Kiyotaka out of his thoughts for the third time in less than ten minutes. “Yer actin’…I dunno. Weirder than normal, I guess? Ya keep tunin’ out an’ it’s kinda…distractin’. I mean, I know we ain’t friends or anythin’…”

“Why are you here?”

The question shoots out of Kiyotaka’s mouth before he can think and the tone is one that can only be described as annoyed. It catches both boys off guard and Kiyotaka feels like he should really retract it. But he doesn’t. Something is allowing this unexpected irritation to run its course. Something that has simply had enough of pretending it’s okay. Something that is fuelled by the tension and anxiety and channelling it into an emotion that Kiyotaka is far too familiar with.

The biker is right; they _aren’t_ friends. Not even close. They only ever interact in premeditated conditions that either Dr Hanata or have Leon organised and that typically means that Leon supervises them, or ‘babysit’ as Ishi likes to call it. That arrangement suits Kiyotaka just fine because being around Leon makes everything feel so much easier and being around Oowada always makes him feel exhausted.

But today was different. Oowada showed up at his door, alone, and asked if he could ‘chill out’ in his room with a strange expression on his face. It wasn’t his usual cocky smirk or angry snarl. It was meek, embarrassed almost. Something that he’s never seen on the boy’s face before and it made him uneasy as well as making it impossible to send the boy away.

So now all those feelings that he can usually distract himself from are right in the forefront with no one to stop them. And they want to come out. Right now.

“Huh?”

“Why did you come to my room?”

“Oh. Uh…to chill out? Didn’t I say that?”

“But we are not friends. You said it yourself.”

“No, I know, but…”

“Is it not more common for people to _chill out_ with their friends?”

“Well, _yeah_ …”

“So why are you here?”

Oowada’s mouth opens to retort but quickly snaps shut. Kiyotaka can see the cogs whirring in his mind as he tries to come up with a reason, or perhaps an excuse. But it seems he’s coming up blank. _It makes no sense_ , Kiyotaka thinks to himself. What could possibly lead Mondo Oowada to _his_ door…

And that’s when it clicks.

“You hoped that it would be Ishi today, am I right?”

The boy doesn’t need to confirm his suspicions because his eyes say it all before they dart to the side. _There it is_. The answer to this whole thing. Of _course_ this is why he’s here. Why _else_ would he want to spend time with Kiyotaka?

A longing sensation tugs at his chest, a lump forming in his throat. He’s getting upset and doesn’t understand why. No, he _does_ understand. This is an emotion he’s felt quite often growing up. But it’s also an emotion that he’s learned to suppress. Kiyotaka takes a deep breath and drops his gaze back down to the canvas, trying to act the way that he is supposed to under the circumstances.

“I see. Well, I am sorry to disappoint but he will not be coming out today.”

“It ain’t like that…”

“You may not know this, but Ishi tends to stay away whenever we have homework deadlines. So you might want to plan your visits more carefully in the future to avoid situations like this.”

“Look, Ishimaru…”

“I need to continue with my work. If you wish to remain here, that is fine. But you will need to be quiet. Otherwise, please feel free to leave.”

More uncomfortable silence, this time almost unbearable as it threatens to smother them both. And it doesn’t help that Kiyotaka can sense that Oowada is staring at him; he can feel his eyes on the top of his head burning holes into his skull. He tries to ignore it, tries to focus on the image of Leon in his mind, tries to see the lines he needs to draw. But it inevitably fails and he sighs loudly, throwing his pencil on the bed beside him and rubbing his face with his hands before glaring at the biker in exasperation.

“Can you stop staring at me, please?” he snaps, voice starting to rise without his consent.

“Only if we can talk.”

“Why? What else is there to talk about?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know. I just…”

“So why are you still here?!”

“Ishimaru, ya need to calm down…”

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

“I’m not, but ya really need to…”

“ _Shut up_!”

There’s a hurt in his voice that comes through, one that he’s failed to hold back. It crackles in his throat, raspy and sore, surprising the other boy into silence. A part of him knows he should probably stop, just take a step back and breathe, to think about what he’s been taught to handle his emotions.

But he doesn’t _want_ to stop. He wants to stop hurting, stop holding it in, stop thinking so hard for just a minute. So he does just that; he stops thinking and let’s go, allowing the words to fall out at lightning speed.

“Just shut up! Stop telling what to do! You have _no_ idea how I feel!”

“Ishimaru, I…”

“No, shut up! _You_ wanted me to talk, so I’m talking! So you have to listen to _me_ now, got it?!”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not Ishi, alright?! I’m not popular, I’m not interesting, I’m not anything special! You think I don’t _know_ all that?! And what makes it _worse_ is that Ishi quite clearly _is_ all of those things and it’s _obvious_ you like him so much more! And I _know_ you’re disappointed that he’s not here right now and you’re stuck with me! I get it, okay?! But this is _my_ day and I’m _allowed_ to have my time without feeling guilty about existing!”

“I…”

“I’m _always_ being told that it’s okay to just be myself and that it’s _okay_ if I’m a little different to everyone else. But clearly it’s _not_ okay because no one likes me because I’m weird and different and annoying and _crazy!_ Why won’t people stop looking at me like I’m going to break?! The more people look at me like that I feel like maybe they’re right and I _will_ break!”

“Ishimaru…”

“But _hey_ , I’m pretty sure I’m already broken because I’m _dull_ and _ugly_ and _stupid_ and I have another person living in my damn _head_! You know, maybe I really _should_ just let Ishi take over!”

“No, that’s not…”

“ _Normal_ people wouldn’t be freaking out over some stupid homework, would they?! They wouldn’t _care_ if it wasn’t perfect and they wouldn’t _care_ if a few details were wrong! _He_ isn’t worried about it at all! It doesn’t _matter_ to him if he can draw and he doesn’t _care_ about what’s beautiful and what’s not! Because he’s _normal,_ right?!”

“You _are_ …”

“Well guess what, Oowada?! _I_ care! _I_ want to get this right, and if that makes me weird or crazy then so be it! And I’m finding it hard enough already! I can’t draw, I don’t have imagination and that’s _exactly_ what this whole stupid picture is meant to be! I have one day left to do this and I have so much work to do and I can’t concentrate on the beautiful memory I have because you keep distracting me! So please, can you just _shut up_ and stop stressing me out and let me _get on with it_?!”

Kiyotaka comes to the end of his rant, breathless and upset, staring through blurred eyes at a gobsmacked Oowada. The words he said were disjointed, sometimes unrelated, but they were heartfelt. They were honest. He’s been feeling these things for quite some time, has been bottling it all up inside because that’s what he’s supposed to do. But now that they’re here, now that his body is allowing him to feel it all, he can’t hide them anymore.

Kiyotaka is _jealous_. That’s what this outburst is really all about. He remembers the other evening where Leon looked at him like he was important. But still, they aren’t friends. They _can’t_ be friends. Leon has never come to find him because he’s _wanted_ to spend time with him. He’s only ever been there because he _needs_ to be. Kiyotaka’s tried to tell himself that that’s okay, but if he’s really honest with himself, he wants more than that. He wants a _real_ friend and he wants it to be Leon.

But _Ishi_ has a friend.

Ishi has managed to win over Oowada and Kiyotaka resents him for it. No matter how much closer they may have become, Kiyotaka hates that Ishi has made a better impression on someone; especially with how little effort he’s put in to do so. Sure, it may not be Leon that he’s friends with, but it’s still a skill he hasn’t been able to master. And Kiyotaka _resents_ Ishi for it.

The more the hatred in his gut grows, the more his emotions spiral out of control. It claws at his heart, squeezing it tightly and crushing against his chest. It stops his lungs from working properly, dissolving his thoughts into liquid that slosh around his brain. It consumes him, dimming the light around him as he’s pulled further into a whirlpool, water stained red as it drags him under the water.

And then he’s floating. Drifting in the void, his bedroom long gone into a sea of darkness. He knows that he’s dissociating because the logical part of his brain is still trying to fire up the engines. It tells him that this is different, that this isn’t where Ishi is, that he needs to get back into control.

But he doesn’t care. All that matters is that it’s quiet. And he’s alone.

_Taka?!_

Kiyotaka opens his heavy eyes at the sound of Ishi’s distant voice. He can’t see him, can’t even sense him. But he’s definitely here somewhere. He’s _always_ here. And will _always_ be here. And as long as he’s here, then Kiyotaka will always be second best.

_Taka, where are you?!_

_Away_ , he thinks to himself as he lets his eyes drift closed once more. Far away from expectations, from rules and regulations. Far away from pain and jealousy. Far away from Ishi, and Mondo, and Leon, and everyone else that makes him feel so useless. Here, it doesn’t matter. _Nothing_ matters. And that’s wonderful…

_Kappa!_

Kiyotaka’s eyes fly open at the familiar voice, chest heaving as cold air rushes into his lungs. He expects to be in his bedroom, to see Oowada there as if nothing had happened. But that’s not where he is. The silhouette of trees surrounded him, twisted and gnarled in a dim moonlight. Twigs and stones that dig into his skin as he pushes himself upwards. Glancing down, he sees that his feet are hidden in darkness, legs flush against a muddy bank. He can just make out the other side in the moonlight as gust of wind rushes up from below and brushes against his face, tousling his hair and stinging his eyes.

_Come on, Kappa!_

The voice rings out once more through the silence from behind him. He twists his body around, searching desperately for the source of the sound. But his eyes can’t adjust, seeing nothing but trees and shadows as they dart across the horizon rapidly. There’s no sound here; only his own heartbeat drumming against his ribs, impossibly loud against the stillness of the forest.

_Get back here!_

A second voice rings out, shrill and vicious, and it sends a chill down Kiyotaka’s spine. He’s heard this voice far too often. _It’s her_. The icy grip of fear crushes his heart almost instantly because he _finally_ knows where he is. He knows what is happening. Knows what is _going_ to happen.

He wants out. Now.

He tries to move, tries to run away, _far_ away from this awful place that has haunted him for as long as he can remember. But his legs don’t work; stuck in place as if his body is like molten metal, melting into the ground. In a panic, he tries to push up with his hands but it’s futile; they slip and slide through the dirt uselessly. He can feel his heart rate increase as he hears their footsteps get closer, helpless whimpers escaping as he keeps trying to escape…

Then they’re there; right behind him, hand in hand. It’s too late. He can do nothing but watch his nightmare unfold before him, resigned to his fate. Only this time, he’s an outsider looking in. And somehow, that feels even worse.

Kiyotaka can’t see their faces. He never can; they’re always fuzzy and featureless. But he knows that they’ve seen the ledge. He knows they’ve seen the danger. He knows they’re considering their options. But they’re running out of time because danger behind them is _worse_. It barrels through the trees, shrieking demonically as it closes the distance.

It goes just as it always does. One boy dashes forward, right by Kiyotaka. He doesn’t even acknowledge that he’s there; because he _isn’t_ there. Not really. This is just a dream. And Kiyotaka can do nothing but watch as he leaps through the air, landing with a thud against the grassy bank opposite and scrabbling to his feet before looking back.

_I can’t!_

The boy to his left cries out, voice shaking with terror. Kiyotaka can feel the warmth of his tears as they hit his hand, sees them glisten on his cheeks in the moonlight like streaks of mercury. He squints, trying to find any defining features of the boy that he follows every night. But there’s nothing but shadows.

_You have to!_

_Sigma, I can’t!_

_Yes you can!_

Kiyotaka swallows the lump in his throat as he watches on hopelessly. He’s watched this scene too many times. The boy will gather the courage far too late. He’ll fall for what feels like forever, watching his only friend disappear above him. His escape will only ever end in darkness, no matter how hard he tries. It will never change…

_Sigma…_

_Kappa, please, just jump!_

There it is. The outstretched hand. The false lifeline. Inevitable doom.

And she appears behind them, bursting through the trees like the monster she is. Kiyotaka hears the boy take a deep breath, resolve fully formed. A few clumsy steps back and then he’s moving, jumping, reaching out for the other boy. It all moves in slow motion, the air around them growing so heavy that it snuffs out everything the sounds of his own rapid heartbeat and he _prays_ that this time, _just for once_ , it will end differently.

It doesn’t.

She’s there beside him, reaching out and clipping the boy’s foot with her claws. As she makes contact, time speeds up once again and the boy plummets down with a crash. He’s screaming out to his friend above him, hand outstretched as he struggles to hold on. But, as always, he falls. And as always, his scream rips through Kiyotaka’s chest like a bullet.

He can feel the tears on his own cheeks, notice as they land on his skin in the exact spot that the boy’s did. His hand covers his mouth to muffle the sound as he watches the lone child on the opposite bank, crying out to his friend helplessly. He’s never seen this before, has never known what happens after the fall. And so it surprises him to hear new words leave Sigma’s lips.

_I’ll get help! I promise! I’ll come back for you, Kappa!_

And then he’s gone, dashing into the darkness. Leaving those final words hanging in the air around him, a glimmer of hope in a world that has always felt so bleak. Kiyotaka wonders if Sigma ever _does_ come back. That if he waited here for as long as it took, would he see the boy come back and find Kappa. Would they be reunited after all?

He feels himself smiling. _Maybe_ , he thinks to himself. _Maybe they’ll be okay_.

Something covers his hand. Something cold. His breath stops in his lungs, fear crushing his chest as he turns his head slowly, eyes low to the ground. And there, resting over his own, Kiyotaka sees thin, pale fingers.

His heart jumps to his throat, a fresh surge of panic buzzing in his veins. But he forces himself to breathe, to think this through rationally. This is a dream. Sigma and Kappa didn’t see him, because he _isn’t_ here because _this is a dream_. So _she_ can’t see him either because _this is a dream_. This is just a coincidence _because this is a dream_. She can’t hurt him, she can’t hurt him, _she can’t hurt me_ …

With a deep breath, he slowly lifts his gaze. The hand is attached to a wrist, and then an arm. Sallow skin, ghostly white under the moonlight. A torso, shrouded in shadows, twisted towards him. And as his eyes finally reach the top, he sees them. _Eyes of evil_.

_Got you_.

“ _No_!”

The words rip out his lungs, his body finally breaking free as he throws himself backwards onto the ground behind him. But it isn’t there. His back meets thin air and he topples backwards, falling away from her as she lets out a bloodcurdling scream. He reaches out, out to anyone to save him, but there’s nothing but darkness. Casting one last glance up, he sees those eyes again and screams.

A flash of orange and the world goes black.

And then _white_ , blinding him momentarily before the world around him comes harshly back into focus. He’s back in his bedroom; his feet tangled in his duvet and his hands in his sweat-soaked hair as he flies backwards. Gulping the air around him, his eyes dart around the room to find her.

But she’s gone. He’s safe.

_Where the_ fuck _did you go?!_

Ishi’s voice roars in Kiyotaka’s head, the pain so intense it feels as if his eyes will explode. He groans, flopping back into his pillows, pushing his palms against them to try and relieve the pain. But it doesn’t let up; Ishi’s anger burning like a wildfire throughout his entire body.

“Ishi, _stop_! You’re hurting me…”

_Don’t dodge the question, asshole!_

“Look, I’m _fine_ …”

_No you’re_ not _fucking_ fine _! You disappeared! I’m minding my own business and the screen comes on. I’m thinking that you’re asking for me to come forward or something so I take a look but all I can see is Mondo staring at you, scared out of his fucking mind!_

“I’m sorry…”

_So I think to myself, oh, maybe he’s freaked himself out again, so I go to look outside ready to calm you down, but you’re not fucking there! And I know for_ sure _you aren’t out there because Mondo’s freaking out and is calling for you to come back, and I’m like, what the fuck?!_

“I said I’m _sorry_ …”

_I’m like losing my fucking mind and I call out for you but you don’t answer and I’m freaking out even_ more _so I try to open the door but it’s_ locked _so I try to break it down but it’s like a_ fucking _force field and I’m screaming and crying and I can’t do_ anything _and I feel so fucking_ useless!

“Ishi, _please_ …”

_And_ then _you just come back just like_ that! _So you better fucking tell me where the_ fuck _you went right now or I’ll fucking_ kill you _!_

“I don’t…I don’t know…”

_What the fuck d’you_ mean _you don’t know?!_

“It’s complicated…”

_Complicated, my ass! Do you have_ any _idea how fucking worried I was?! I thought you were dead!_

“I can’t say anything else but I’m sorry, okay?! I can’t change what happened! But you’re hurting me so please, _please_ can you stop?!”

_Un-fucking-believable! You know what?_ Fine _. Don’t tell me then. But you do_ not _pull that shit ever again, you understand?!_

Kiyotaka nods, too tired to do much else. He hears Ishi grumble, clearly still not satisfied and still very obviously angry. But he doesn’t speak again and the heat pooling behind Kiyotaka’s eyes finally simmers down to a more tolerable heat. Kiyotaka sighs, letting his hands drop against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling as he tries to finally catch his breath.

“Why is it always me?”

The voice is quiet, almost inaudible over his own heavy breathing. But it’s there; small and weak, so unlike the voice that Kiyotaka is used to hearing. He lifts his body up slightly, surprised to see Oowada stood at the foot of the bed; head bowed, fist clenched and body shaking.

“What?”

“Why d’ya always freak out around _me_?” 

“It’s _not_ just you…”

“Yeah, it is. It was because of _me_ that ya broke Leon’s nose. It was _me_ that made ya had yer first ever panic attack. Hell, it was _me_ that made ya realise that Ishi was _Ishi_ an’ I’m pretty sure ya smacked Leon because of _our_ fight. An’ now this. This was the worst one yet.”

Kiyotaka finds himself speechless as he stares at the boy in front of him. Oowada is a boy that prides himself on being strong, the _strongest_ , and that typically means that he throws caution to the wind when it comes to other people’s feelings. He’s never once bothered to check on Kiyotaka himself, only ever focusing on how Ishi is doing and feeling.

But now he seems to be hurting, and it’s because of how he’s treated Kiyotaka…

“Everythin’ is _my_ fault. Everythin’ is _always_ my fault. They thought that maybe in this school, getting’ me away from the gang and all the bad memories, I would calm down an’ stop bein’ so angry all the time. I might find someone that’s a good influence on me or some shit. I guess that was meant to be _you_ because the Doc said that havin’ ya in the sessions will be good for me. An’ I’m meant to be good for _you_ too. But I fucked up _again_ an’ ya seem worse than when school started. An’ it’s because of _me_. _I’m_ the problem. An’ I don’t know how to fix it.”

The biker finally raises his eyes and Kiyotaka sees someone very different in front of him. The boy he knows is fierce and unruly, aggressive and arrogant. He looks far older than he is because comes from a world full of violence. Mondo Oowada, in every single way, is a _man’s man_ …

But the boy in front of him is just that; a _boy_. His whole face looks ten years younger, eyes brimming with tears that he’s trying desperately to fight. His toxic view on what it means to be masculine is trying to stop him from showing any kind of emotion. But he’s frightened and he’s frustrated; clearly carrying a lot of unresolved emotions that cause him immense pain.

“Fuck it,” the boy barks, standing up abruptly as he wipes his eyes. “Yer right. I wanted ya to be Ishi today and I was disappointed when ya opened the door. I’m a selfish asshole and yer right to be pissed at me because we ain’t supposed to make either of ya feel unwanted. But I fucked up _as usual_. So I’ll just leave ya alone an’ let ya get back to yer work. Ya don’t need me makin’ everythin’ even worse…”

“Mondo, _wait_!”

Mondo’s hand hovers over the door handle as Ishi shoots to his feet, hand reaching out for him almost instinctively. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, hear the blood rushing in his ears as the side effects of such a sudden switch make him feel slightly lightheaded. He doesn’t know what happened and how he came forward so fast but frankly, he doesn’t give a shit. He needs to fix this, needs to make Mondo strong again.

“Don’t go.”

“Why?”

“I don’t…” Ishi trails off, hand dropping to his side as his eyes follow. “I don’t want you to go.”

There’s no reply, making Ishi’s stomach twist with nerves. But then again, there’s not the sound of a door opening either. So _that’s_ a good start. Peeking up once again, he finds that Mondo has twisted back to face him; hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched, eyes on his feet. _Not good, but not bad either_. Now he just needs to say something to break this awkward silence.

“I might not have the answer on how you can fix all that shit,” Ishi starts, not entirely sure where he’s going with this line of thought, but his gut urges him to carry on regardless. “But I’m honest and I don’t beat around the bush when it comes to speaking my mind. I haven’t known you very long, but I do know we’re the same in that sense. So I’m going to tell you why some of the shit that happened went the way it went. No bullshit, no lying. Just cold hard facts. Yeah?”

He doesn’t know whether or not he’s expecting some sort of response from Mondo but, either way, he gets nothing. He’s still stood at the door, still staring at the floor. _That’s about as good as I’m going to get_ , Ishi thinks to himself. He’d best start talking before the biker does a runner. And so, with a deep breath, he begins.

“The first time he freaked out was because of both of us. Well, let’s be honest. _You_ started it. You slammed his head into a locker over and over again. And like _fuck_ was I going to let you treat him like that and get away with it. To me, you were just another one of those assholes that he’s dealt with all his life. I promised myself that next time someone hurt him, I’d fuck that person up just like I did in school. And so I retaliated. So that’s how _that_ went down.”

Unsurprisingly, this information doesn’t go down well. Ishi didn’t think it was possible for the boy in front of him to shrink any further, but he does. His face disappears into the shadow of his pompadour as he hunches even more and Ishi can sense that he’s planning an escape. So he quickly continues before he can make his move.

“After that night, I was determined to make your life hell. There was just something about you that rubbed me the wrong way and I needed to knock you down a peg or too. It got easier and easier to take him over when you were there because you not only made _me_ angry, but _him_ too. So the day he had that panic attack, _I_ was the one winding you up. Not him. And if I’d been paying more attention to him, I would have noticed that something was off about him. It was probably because I was trying to switch out again so soon, I don’t really know. But by the time he was going off on one, he wouldn’t listen to me anymore. He wasn’t _angry_ anymore, he was _frightened_. And I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. So when _Kuwata_ comes in and saves the fucking day like some kind of hero…it pissed me off. He’d managed to get through to him when I couldn’t. And so I forgot all about defending him. I just switched the screen off and sulked.”

Ishi remembers that day vividly. It was the first time in forever that he was worried about Taka. He was so used to manipulating anger that when a different emotion, a _stronger_ emotion appeared, he felt out of control. And suddenly all he wanted to do was come forward to take away the fear. Let Taka sleep it off in the darkness for a bit until he’d calmed down. He felt like the boy he used to be, back when they were children. And when he couldn’t do it, when he was shown up, he felt just like a child and reacted that way too.

“My memory goes a bit blank after that. When I’m in there without the screen on, time just sort of stops for me. All I know is that I was angry at Kuwata for stealing my thunder and angry at you for getting him in that state in the first place. I was just stuck in this…constant state of hate and anger and it was just getting worse and worse the longer time went on. And then he called for me and suddenly I felt needed. The screen came back on and I watched the memory of you kicking him, of you calling him a creep, of you telling him to shut up when he wanted your help. It was another panic attack. And this time, I was going to help.”

He remembers being overwhelmed; sheer hatred pulsing white hot in his veins. He remembers charging through the darkness at full speed, _finally_ able to come to Taka’s rescue. But somewhere along the way, he let his own selfish desires taint his noble cause. Anger quickly turned into sick pleasure, his intent to defend turned into the desire to hurt. And once that door opened, once he saw Mondo above him and tasted the sweetness of freedom, he lost his mind and went on a rampage.

“Yeah…that night was fucked up,” he admits, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “A lot of shit happened, shit that really _shouldn’t_ have happened. All because I went and sulked like a baby. It wasn’t cool at all. And it was so _embarrassing_ that I couldn’t stick up for us, that I couldn’t do what I was _meant_ to do and keep us safe. I’m good at frightening people, it’s the only thing I knew to make everyone just fuck off and leave him alone. But that guy wasn’t frightened of me at all. _I_ was the frightened one. And I got us hurt. _God_ , I’m such a dumbass…”

He doesn’t _like_ doing all this talking bullshit. It’s sappy and pathetic and the kind of thing that Taka would do. He would never in a million years _dream_ of admitting to anyone about how frightened he felt that night. It was confusing to feel so many things all in one go and he felt like he was going to burst. And to gain control, he tried to frighten Taka in submission.

But it all changed once Mondo arrived. He saw that there was someone else besides Kiyotaka Ishimaru looking back at him. Despite not knowing how to handle the situation, he did the best he could and diffused the situation. He made him feel something other than anger. He _makes_ him feel something other than anger. He makes him feel happy.

Ishi’s _happy_ …

“You’re right. _You’re_ the one who made him realise who I was by treating him like shit. _You’re_ the one that made me stronger and kept making me retaliate. _You’re_ the one that pushed us _both_ to our breaking points and gave us no choice but to acknowledge the other. But that’s not _all_ you did. You made _me_ realise who _I_ was. _You_ looked at me and saw that I wasn’t _him_. _You_ spoke to me differently, _you_ calmed me down, _you_ made me feel like it was okay. And hell, _you_ gave me my _name_! I’m only called Ishi because _you_ called me that! You know that, right?”

“Really?”

The word is thick with hope, wet with emotion, small and fragile. Mondo lifts his head slightly, lavender eyes finally moving to meet Ishi’s gaze. And, for just a moment, Ishi can’t breathe. There’s tears running down the biker’s face; genuine, heart-breaking tears.

Ishi feel a surge of sadness in response, wanting nothing more than to reach out and grab his hand. He wants Mondo to bury his fingers in the wool that rests on his torso, to feel the relief that he and Taka so often find when they do this. He wants to tell him that everything is okay, that he’s safe, that he doesn’t _need_ to be strong right now.

But he kicks those thoughts down abruptly. _No_ , he snarls to himself. _This isn’t what he would want._ Mondo wants to be _strong_. And Ishi needs to be strong in return.

“Of course!” he shouts, realising his voice has gotten significantly louder but deciding to do nothing about it. “Are you fucking kidding?! You’re, like, the _whole_ reason I’m even here right now! So don’t go giving me all that bullshit about not knowing just what good you’ve done! You got that?!”

“Y-Yeah…”

“Sure, you made some dumbass mistakes, but so did I! If that makes you a dumbass, well then so am I! But I’m _not_ a dumbass so that means you can’t be either! We’re the same, yeah?!”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah! That’s more like it! That’s the Mondo I know! There’s my…uh…I mean…you’re my…”

Ishi feels a word on the tip of his tongue but struggles to find it. He knows what it _feels_ like; warm and strong, just like Mondo. It flutters in his chest, flips around in his stomach, makes his brain slightly fuzzy. What is it that thinks when he thinks of Mondo?

“Friend?”

_That’s_ what he’s thinking. He considers Mondo his friend, his _only_ friend. And to hear Mondo say it out loud, looking at him with so much hope, he desperately wants to allow himself to accept that.

But he can’t. It’s a word that he associates with Taka. The raven-haired boy _longs_ for friendship almost more than he longs to succeed in his education. And so Ishi _can’t_ use that word because it’s just not fair. He _knows_ Leon considers him a friend, but until the words are spoken, Ishi knows that Taka won’t believe it. So he _needs_ to use a different word.

“No,” he says abruptly, watching in horror as the biker’s face falls in disappointment. “That word is dumb.”

“Is it?”

“Hell yeah! It’s the kind of shit that Taka wants and I’m _way_ better than that nerd. We’re just too cool for sappy shit like that. We’re _strong_! We’re _men_. We’re…”

“Bro’s?”

“ _Yes_!” Ishi screams triumphantly, his face splitting into a grin that feels like it reaches his ears as he points towards Mondo. “Bro’s! That’s what we are! We’re _bro’s_!”

There’s a moment’s silence and then the atmosphere completely changes. Mondo’s body straightens, chest puffing out with pride and his face breaks into an enormous grin. Any sadness that was there has evaporated in the blink of an eye. And in its place is a strong, confident boy who looks happier than he has done for as long as Ishi has known him.

“Hell _yeah_!” he roars happily, rushing forward to roughly ruffle the hair on Ishi’s head. “Fuck friendship! Who needs that shit when ya got a bro instead?!”

Ishi gets the urge to bat the boy’s hand away from his head. If anyone saw this, they would think that he’s submissive or some shit, allowing another person to treat him this way. But he fights the impulse, pushing it back to allow himself to enjoy this moment. The smile on Mondo’s face is like sunshine, warm and comforting, and it erases whatever insecurities he feels just by looking at him.

This is better. This is good. Ishi’s done good.

Laughter fills the room for a few more minutes, eventually trickling slowly into a gentle quiet. Both boys find themselves sat on the floor, shoulder to upper arm, perfectly content in each other’s company. Ishi has never truly felt comfortable around others, but Mondo is always the exception. And he really hopes they can carry out spending time together. Because this feeling right here? This is the _best_.

“Oh shit, the homework.”

Mondo’s words burst the little bubble of happiness surrounding them, dragging them back into the real world with a thud. Ishi’s brow furrows in a frown and he twists to stare at the canvas on the floor; upturned and quite obviously blank. _What the fuck_ , he thinks to himself as he brings it to his lap. _Why is it empty?_

“He didn’t finish it already?”

“Nah. He looked like he was really strugglin’.”

“Struggling? But I thought he _liked_ this homework shit?”

“I don’t think it was a case of not likin’ it. He said somethin’ about the fact he can’t draw?”

_Well that explains why today happened_ , Ishi thinks to himself, examining the smudged canvas his hands. Taka always takes failure to heart, and would immediately be thinking that because he can’t draw that he would fail. He doesn’t understand that he doesn’t need to be good at _everything_. Ishi knows he isn’t good at homework. Maths and science hurt his brain so what’s the point in trying when he’s good at so many other things?

He wishes Taka felt the same, but knows it isn’t that simple. And now at least he has an explanation for why this whole weird day has happened. If he was already carrying around all that anxiety then it wouldn’t have taken all that much to push him over the edge. Well, lesson learnt. Ishi will just need to be more vigilant in taking care of him. Taka can’t go disappearing every time he feels stressed.

He gently reaches out to Taka, trying to coax him forward, reminding him that he’s still got the homework to do. But he gets no response, just silence. _I don’t like that_ , he thinks as a small knot of anxiety twists in his stomach. He closes his eyes momentarily, putting all his effort into picturing the corridor and the door. You know, just to be safe.

It doesn’t take long before it appears, the same as ever. The door is closed and there’s movement coming from behind it. A flash of red passes by the window and he feels a rush of relief. _Good, he’s safe_.

But safe doesn’t fix the problem at hand. There’s homework to be done. And it looks like it’s on _Ishi’s_ shoulders.

“When’s the deadline?”

“Uh. Tomorrow, maybe?”

“Oh for fuck sake,” Ishi grumbles, taking a deep breath to ground himself. _Taka needs this. Do it for him_. “ _Fine_. What am I meant to be drawing?”

“Something about what you think is beautiful or some shit.”

Well _that’s_ a relief. Ishi doesn’t know much about beauty. It’s something that has never really mattered to him. But he knows that _art_ is subjective. He could literally draw _anything_ and no one could tell him that it’s not right. So long as he draws _something_ then he’ll be golden. _Yeah,_ he thinks triumphantly with a grin. _I got this, Taka_.

Ishi takes a moment to study the canvas; the majority of the white material now various shades of grey. He initially thought it was a mess. But the more he looks at it, he can see an image forming in his head. One that is so vivid he feels _compelled_ to capture it. Without looking, he reaches across to find the pencil that is now halfway under the bed and it begins glides across the paper.

“Why’d he hit Leon?”

“Hmm?”

“The shoppin’ day when he bitch slapped Leon. Why’d he do it?”

“Oh. That was my fault.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I was being an asshole.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Trees begin to take shape under his fingers; branches jutting out under thick layers of leaves. Using the tip of his finger, he rubs the colour in the sky; clouds appearing out of thin air around the moon that peeks from behind them. The pencil darts down, focusing on the ground. A ledge. There _needs_ to be a ledge…

“What did ya call him earlier?”

“Taka.”

“Taka? Where’d _that_ come from?”

“Leon said it a couple of nights ago and it stuck.”

“Oh. Does he like it?”

“Loves it.”

“Ya think he’d mind if I used it?”

“Nah.”

The light of the moonlight, the glimmering eyes in the darkness from nocturnal critters, groups of mushrooms collected by the tree trunks. They all appear in front of him, perfectly placed. It looks complete, every element in its place. But it’s not right. There’s still something missing. He scans the scene once again…

“Am I botherin’ ya?”

“No.”

“Really? Yer concentratin’ real hard. An’ givin’ real short answers…”

“I’m fine.”

_That’s it_. It’s not enough to have an empty forest. He needs something else. _Someone_ else. His fingers drift to the ledge, pencil scribbling in jagged movements as he adds the missing piece…

“Hey, Ishi?”

Ishi finally snaps out of his trance, dropping the pencil abruptly as he pulls his eyes away from his work. Mondo’s not beside him. He’s stood by the door instead, a gentle smile pulling on his lips.

“Are you going?”

“Yeah. Ya seemed busy.”

“Sorry. I just wanted to do this for Taka.”

“Nah, it’s all good. I’ll see you around, Ishi.”

The door opens and closes with a gentle click, and suddenly Ishi is alone. He pushes himself to his feet, letting the image drop to the floor; momentarily forgotten. It hits the ground with a thud and a jolt of panic runs up his spine as he checks it over for damage, a loud curse ringing out into the silence as he flips the picture over and runs his eyes over every inch of it. Relief quickly replaces alarm and he breathes out the air he didn’t realise he was holding.

_How did you do it?_

Taka’s voice is loud in his mind. He’s _always_ loud, of course. But in the stillness of the bedroom, it’s easy to be caught off guard. Ishi bristles with annoyance, preparing a reactive swipe in return. That is, until he realises that it wasn’t his usual judgemental tone. It was one of curiosity and awe.

“I just let my fingers do the work.”

_It’s really beautiful_.

Ishi finds himself smiling at that, cheeks flushing with pride. He’s _finally_ done it. He’s finally done something _good_ for Taka that can be acknowledged. And _fuck_ does this feel good!

_I didn’t realise you see it too._

“See what?”

_The forest._

“You mean you’ve seen it before?”

_Yes. All the time. In my dreams. Don’t you?_

“…no.”

There’s a heavy silence at that, one that makes Ishi incredibly uncomfortable. Taka’s still there, he knows it. He can feel him there. But there’s something different. It’s almost as if he’s trying to hide something. Almost as if he’s afraid.

“Taka?”

_I can’t._

His voice is small, only a whisper in the back of his mind. _He’s definitely afraid_. Every instinct in him wants to force the boy to talk to him, to share his secrets, to let him know he doesn’t have to be afraid. But that’s not what Taka needs right now. He needs to push that all aside and back down. If he doesn’t, then who knows what will happen.

_Please don’t tell anyone_.

“Okay. I won’t.”

_Okay._

“Would you rather I got rid of this?”

_You worked so hard on it…_

“Fuck that. This is _your_ homework. And if you don’t wanna talk about this shit, then I’ll draw something else. Besides, I think I like drawing. So it’s a win-win scenario, right?”

_Okay._

The canvas is shoved under the bed with every intention of being forgotten. Ishi knows he _won’t_ forget, that this will come back up at some point. But for now, he needs to distract Taka with a new drawing. Striking up a meaningless conversation, he can feel the tension start to lift. He can hear the confidence coming back into his voice. And before long, Taka’s back to his normal, annoying as shit self.

Maybe one day, Taka will trust him with this. Or maybe he’ll have this dream himself and Taka won’t _need_ to open up. That would be the ideal scenario. And then Ishi could deal with it.

But until that day, it’ll stay under the bed. It’ll remain unspoken. It’ll stay Taka’s secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! 
> 
> Thank you for reading through that monstrosity of a chapter! This one took me ages to write and I guess you can see why. I hope it isn't too heavy - felt a little full of different things, but I kinda couldn't do the chapter without them all in there, you know? And FINALLY some Ishimondo! I worked hard on it - I hope I didn't disappoint!
> 
> I got some MORE fanart for the last chapter! Created once again by the wonderful @redringleader over on Tumblr, here's the image! https://emiefaunwrites.tumblr.com/post/632338479555264512/its-happened-again-the-wonderful PLEASE show them some love, their so incredible and I feel blessed that they took even more time to draw up the wonderful Ishi in his casual clothes!
> 
> Thank you once again to everyone that read, comments, gives kudos, talks to me on Tumblr. You all really make my day that little bit brighter when you do that. So please, let me know what you're thinking and whether you're enjoying! Either here or on Tumblr is good: I'm @emiefaunwrites if you wanna come say hi!
> 
> Thanks again! Much love x


	14. Chapter 13

_Fucking hell, Taka. Stop staring!_

Kiyotaka’s cheeks flush, eyes dropping abruptly back down to his desk. Down to the science test he should be concentrating on. The test that is worth ten percent of this term’s grade and should _absolutely_ be his only train of thought this afternoon. It definitely _shouldn’t_ be the boy sat to his right; the one that Kiyotaka’s eyes _constantly_ seem to keep wandering over to without his consent.

Before coming to Hope’s Peak, Kiyotaka honestly never understood how people could be distracted from their studies. He’s always prided himself on committing to his task one hundred percent, never allowing anything or anyone to deter him until he is fully satisfied that he has done everything it takes to get the very best result. Because otherwise, what’s the point? How can he ever become Prime Minister if he can’t prove to everyone that he is better than his _genius_ grandfather?

Tunnel vision. That’s what someone once told him his problem was. He would become so hyper focused that he couldn’t see what was around him. But that simply wasn’t true. He’s trained himself to shut out the buzzing sounds of those that seemed hell-bent on throwing him off kilter and now it just comes as second nature. So it wasn’t that Kiyotaka _couldn’t_ see the distractions. He’s just become excellent at the art of ignoring.

These days, however, there are things that he _can’t_ ignore.

It comes as no surprise that Ishi finds himself at the top of that list, not even to Ishi himself. Thankfully, however, the white-haired boy is starting to respect his wishes; keeping quiet during classes and trying to work on his manners. So instead of hurling an insult towards the first person to annoy him, he’s become slightly better at toning down his language in public and even walking away from situations that irritate him.

He’s also found that Ishi no longer fights as hard for dominance and has gone a couple of days without forcing his way forward. Kiyotaka isn’t sure why this has happened but doesn’t plan to question it either. Just in case it backfires and they end up losing control again. _Neither_ of them enjoyed the last time and they definitely don’t want a repeat of that evening.

Another part of his life that he cannot ignore are the sessions with Dr Hanata. In the past, they were his family’s little secret; just simple anger management classes. No one cared that he would be ushered away from school at the end of every Tuesday and Friday. And even if anyone spotted him at the clinic, he would always have patient confidentiality to protect him and his father to cover for him.

But now, he shares a session with one of his classmates and has support from a second; both of which are people that would not naturally gravitate towards him. They’ve done their very best to keep the sessions subtle, but it’s difficult in a school environment. Kiyotaka knows that people have seen them heading to the same room together on a regular basis. Their excuses are becoming less and less creative, less and less convincing. It will only be a matter of time before _someone_ figures out what’s going on and he dreads the moment more than anything.

Then there’s the days he _has_ to spend time with Oowada. Dr Hanata says that it will be easier for them to interact outside of sessions. She says it will feel more natural. But in actuality, it’s the exact _opposite_. Kiyotaka finds nothing worse than turning up to whatever it is that has been arranged for them knowing that neither he nor the biker want to be there. It doesn’t help that Ishi practically _begs_ to come forward, entirely defeating the point of the interaction in the first place. Kiyotaka always finds himself coming away either exhausted or succumbing to Ishi’s wishes and spending the day in the darkness.

But the biggest distraction of them all, at least right now, is a certain red headed boy.

Kiyotaka’s eyes land on Leon once again, all thoughts of his test long gone. For last few days, he finds himself constantly looking at him. Along with that, he’s noticed a difference in himself when he does. He feels lighter when he looks at him. The numbers and patterns that he’s so religiously followed for his entire life seem to make no sense, jumbling up in his head and trying to rearrange haphazardly. And once they’ve given up, everything is quiet; blissful, comforting silence.

And in those moments, nothing else matters. Only him. Only Leon.

_Dude, seriously. Stop. It’s creepy, yeah?_

_Yes, I know_ , Kiyotaka thinks to himself as he forces his gaze back down. He _knows_ that staring is considered an unpleasant habit. And if Leon caught him in the act, he would probably react negatively. He would call Kiyotaka a freak, ruining _any_ chance of friendship, and the rumours would spread. Everyone would hear about the weirdo in Class 78; staring at people like a creep and all hopes of achieving his goal would be gone in an instant. He honestly _knows_ all of this.

But he can’t stop.

His eyes flicker over once again towards the redhead, observing the subtle things about him. The way his nose is crinkled, tongue peeking out between his teeth and the pen he’s chewing on. The dent in his cheek where his rings have dug in after resting against his fist for too long. How his eyes dart across the page as he seems to read the same question over and over, cheeks puffing out as he finally puts pen to paper to scribble something down.

_Yeah_ , Kiyotaka thinks to himself. _He’s beautiful._

A small smile, soft and unnoticed, plays at his lips. His cheek rests against his fingers, palm cupping his chin as he watches the other boy struggle with a few more questions. Maybe he should offer to tutor him? He doesn’t want to see him fail, after all. And Leon’s helped him out so many times in the past. It’s about time he returned the favour.

Leon stretches his arms upwards, yawning ungraciously before leaning back in his chair with a small huff. Kiyotaka notices his lip jutting out in a small pout and his smile grows at the sight. It’s a part of Leon he’s not seen before, an emotion he hasn’t had the pleasure in experiencing. _Just how much else is there to learn about him?_ But before he gets a chance to put too much thought into it, blue eyes are turning towards him and lock with his own. A surge of heat rush into his cheeks and his eyes plummet back to the paper in front of him; the smile he’s only just become aware of quickly replaced with a grimace of embarrassment.

_You’re_ such _a dumbass._

Kiyotaka’s fist clenches dangerously around the pen in his hand, body shaking as he tries to force himself to read the question that he’s failed to answer for five whole minutes. But of course, he’s far too distracted with the shame coursing through his veins. He _told_ himself that he would be caught a whole thirty seconds _before_ being caught. And now the scenario that he’s been worrying about is about to play out…

_Yeah, that won’t happen dude. He’ll be chill about it._

Kiyotaka thinks about this, wondering whether Ishi could be right. He’ll admit that his mind always jumps to the conclusions that disadvantage him the most. But he can’t see how this can turn out to his advantage. Why would someone would react to one of the weird things he does positively? No one has ever done that in the past so why would they do that now?

_Aren’t you the one that keeps telling me how Kuwata’s different to other people?_

It’s true. Leon _is_ different to the other kids he’s interacted with. He’s proved time and time again that he isn’t like the other boys that bullied him, just because he’s a little bit different. But things easily change. Kiyotaka isn’t exactly someone people _want_ to be around and he’s certain that it wouldn’t take much to turn people away from him. And as kind as Leon has been, it doesn’t mean…

_Jesus, stop overthinking! You’re giving me a fucking headache! Look, just ask him later. Now, concentrate on your test, like you keep saying you want to, and then we’ll deal with the other thing later, yeah?_

Kiyotaka feels himself relax slightly, Ishi’s words bringing him some blessed relief. _He’s right_ , he thinks. _Now is not the time to worry_. What he needs to do is concentrate on his education, as he’s always done. It’s what he does best.

But the thought is short-lived, despite all of his good intentions. As much as he wants to answer the final questions on his test, he feels a strange sensation on his neck. An itch; one that feels like it will only be sated if he looks over once again.

_Don’t._

He tries to stop, tries to focus his attention on what’s in front of him and do what he’s _supposed_ to be doing. But his eyes move on their own; slowly drifting away from his paper, across the floor and upwards. His heart pounds in his chest from an anxiety he can’t quite understand and when the realisation hits him, it leaves him feeling even more confused.

He _wants_ Leon to still be looking towards him. He _wants_ another chance to look into the eyes that feel like home. He _wants_ to bathe in the warm, safe feeling that always follows in the redhead’s wake. He wants all this more than anything he’s ever wanted, the feeling so intense it makes his stomach twist with anxiety.

When it turns out that Leon isn’t looking at him, a new sensation builds. It aches deep in his chest, bringing a lump to his throat that swallowing won’t dislodge. Of _course_ he wouldn’t be looking. He has better things to do, other people that mean so much more to him to distract himself with during what must think to be an incredibly boring lesson. Kiyotaka may think of Leon as his friend, but Leon has given no indication that the feeling is mutual. He wishes that he would stop getting his hopes up, stop yearning for something that clearly will never…

_He’s looking._

Leon’s head is tilted slightly, eyes dancing with confusion as they sweep over Kiyotaka’s face. There’s an uncertainty in his expression, one that Kiyotaka hasn’t seen before and it makes his stomach lurch. _He’s creeped out. Ishi was wrong_. He wants to take it back, rewind time and make it so that this whole thing never happened. But he can’t; he’s stuck here in this classroom, surrounded by people, caught in the act of staring at a boy he hopelessly longs for friendship with.

But then something changes. The uncertainty changes to something that Kiyotaka vaguely recognises; something that almost looks like he’s figured out the answer to a puzzle. And then his expression is softer, warmer; his eyes seeming to shine before they dip back down to his desk. Kiyotaka watches as a dusting of pink prickles on his cheek bones, lip catching between his teeth. And then the most surprising thing happens.

Leon smiles.

A smile so small that Kiyotaka almost misses it but it’s _definitely_ there. One that is undeniably one of the _real_ smiles that seem only reserved for him. The air in Kiyotaka’s lungs stutter slightly at the sight, a rush of warmth flowing all the way through his body. He’s mesmerized as Leon’s eyes lift slowly once again, watching as the smile blooms before him like a flower in the spring.

It’s now that Kiyotaka realises that all of his worries meant nothing. Perhaps around Leon, he’ll never need to worry about these things again. He isn’t certain that’s true, but the thought alone brings more happiness than can be contained.

“Only five minutes left!”

It feels as if he’s been ripped from a dream; the pressure of the world’s expectation suddenly overwhelmingly heavy on his shoulders and all of his focus is _finally_ directed towards the question below him. His mind is suddenly clear of worries and insecurities so it sees everything far more easily than it has done all morning. His pen scratches on the paper, jotting down the answers with ease and before he knows it, the test is over.

Kiyotaka spends the rest of his day in conflict with his brain; half wanting to focus with the other half trying to catch Leon’s eye. Hoping to see that expression on his face again and never being disappointed when he does. Every time they lock eyes, Leon smiles _that_ smile and Kiyotaka feels like his mind is made out of cotton wool. The feeling is _intoxicating_ ; so much better than _all_ of the feelings he’s felt in his life thus far.

When it comes to the end of the day, Kiyotaka isn’t surprised when Leon wanders off with his friends. _That’s perfectly fine_ , he thinks to himself. He has some questions for his teacher and knows that they’re going to be boring to his classmates. And he wouldn’t want to keep Leon waiting around, so doesn’t bother trying to catch his attention. But he knows that by the time he reaches his room, the loneliness will kick in and isn’t sure what he’ll do to get rid of it.

_Sweet, guess it’s my turn then! Awesome, I want to do some more drawing!_

Kiyotaka is amazed at just how dedicated Ishi is to his new hobby. He’s constantly finding _something_ to draw; be it a large scenic view or just some doodles in the corner of his notebook. His imagination is incredible and for once, Kiyotaka doesn’t feel the slightest bit jealous of Ishi’s superior ability. He even told Dr Hanata about it and allowed Ishi out to soak in the praise she showered on him. ‘Something to channel your feelings’ she told him. Ishi snorted and made a snarky comment, but seemed to forget that Kiyotaka can hear his thoughts. So he knows that Ishi _really_ enjoyed that feeling, whether he’ll admit it out loud or not.

_Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m fucking amazing, I know. Old news. Let’s just get back so that I can…_

“Hey, Taka!”

Kiyotaka turns his head at the sound of his name, brow immediately furrowing in confusion. It isn’t often that people call out to him in the hallway, unless it’s to make fun or throw insults at his back after he’s issued them with a detention slip. But he knows that nickname anywhere and it immediately makes his heart double step in his chest.

Leon casually strolls towards him; hands in his pockets and his every day mask firmly in place as he grins cheekily at him. Kiyotaka’s gotten used to seeing the two sides of Leon Kuwata. As much as he wishes the boy could figure out who he wants to be, he’s come to accept that it won’t be that easy. It would be as if someone told him to simply not listen to Ishi; overwhelming and nigh-on impossible. So Kiyotaka will take the quiet moments with Leon as they come.

“Yes?” he asks, turning fully to face the redhead. He catches the strange looks from Leon’s friends over his shoulder and tries to ignore them. “Can I help you?” 

“You asked me to see you after class. We have that homework to do together, yeah?”

Leon’s question confuses him, causing Kiyotaka’s head to tilt slightly to the side as he thinks. _Homework?_ He doesn’t remember any homework that required them to work in pairs. Then again, he did spend half of his day distracted by the boy right in front of him. So it’s something that he could have easily missed.

“Sorry?”

“You know. The _homework_?”

There’s something in Leon’s eyes that Kiyotaka can’t read. A hint that he can’t pick it up. More eyes on him from down the hall burn into his skull, the awkwardness growing around them. Oh no, he’s embarrassing Leon in front of his friends. Leon’s smile falters slightly, his eyes showing signs of panic. _Oh no oh no oh no_ …

_He means your assignment from the Doc, dumbass. He doesn’t want to say it out loud and embarrass you._

_Yes, of course!_ Relief floods through Kiyotaka, beaming at Ishi’s words. Ishi, in return, grumbles in annoyance but that doesn’t matter. Leon’s smile is back to normal, the relief clear in his eyes before quickly flicking back to his nonchalant façade.

“Ah!” Kiyotaka announces loudly, straightening up to full height with pride. “Yes! Of course! How could I forget?!”

“No biggie. Let’s go, yeah?”

“Of course!”

Leon spins back around, flipping his middle finger up at his friends with a grin and a parting insult before keeping pace with the hall monitor. Kiyotaka would normally scold the boy for his profanity, but he’s too giddy with happiness to think about it. He doesn’t care if Leon walks like he owns the school or carries on swearing for the rest of the day. He’s just so happy not to be spending the evening alone.

_Oh, lucky you! It’s not like I had any fucking plans or anything, huh?!_

“Where did you want to…study?” Kiyotaka asks, ignoring Ishi’s seething comments. “We could go to the library? Or perhaps we could find a nice spot outside…”

“Your room.”

The tone of Leon’s voice catches Kiyotaka off guard and he turns to look at him without even thinking. His posture is identical to the way he left his friends; hands locked behind his head, body leaning backwards in his usual carefree nature, chin slightly lifted so his gaze just about makes it to the ceiling. To anyone looking his way, Leon looks like his normal self.

But Kiyotaka can see a difference. Now that he knows what he’s looking for, he can see the strain in Leon’s smile. He can see how white his knuckles are. And he can see that his eyes don’t sparkle the way they did earlier. In fact, the more Kiyotaka looks, the more _exhausted_ Leon seems _._

“That cool?”

“Of course.”

Leon tilts his head toward him and Kiyotaka sees, for only a few seconds, a genuine smile. Gratitude. And then it’s gone; his face contorting into an obscene expression at another of his friends who happens to be passing. The heavy burden of the part he plays returning to his eyes and no one but Kiyotaka can see it.

It makes Kiyotaka’s heart ache. He knows just how hard it is to become what society needs you to be. He thought it was only ever a weight he had to bear, one that wouldn’t dig its claws into anyone that didn’t have the stigma of his predecessors on their shoulders. But Kiyotaka has learned that society takes no prisoners; that _everyone_ has that pressure. He only wishes he could do something to relieve the one that Leon carries.

Once the door of his room is closed behind them, Kiyotaka watches as Leon’s whole body relaxes. A long sigh escapes his lips, head tilting backwards as his eyes flutter closed. Tense knuckles unlock, shoulders slump; the tension he has been holding in all day finally releasing. Kiyotaka notices once again how impossibly younger the redhead looks once he’s dropped the act.

“Are you alright?”

Leon hums in response, opening his eyes to gaze lazily towards him. And to Kiyotaka’s delight, the boy’s lips curl upwards; quiet and gentle, soft and unspoken. A smile so true that despite its delicacy, it brightens the entire room and brings Kiyotaka’s thoughts to a screeching halt.

“Yeah. I’m good now.”

The two boys observe each other, a comfortable silence washing over them and filling the room. Being around Leon is effortless, yet exciting. Confusing, yet logical. It muddles his brain into thinking all sorts of strange things that makes senses but don’t all at the same time. He’s a total juxtaposition and yet he’s just right. How is something like that even possible?

“Ishi really likes his art, huh?”

Kiyotaka blinks out of his thoughts, noticing that Leon’s moved from where he was a moment ago. He’s now stood a couple of inches in front of him, taking in one of Ishi’s paintings; a watercolour scene depicting a multi-coloured sunset behind shadowy mountains. One of Ishi’s pride possessions; so much so that he hung it up on the wall opposite the bed. _Without_ Kiyotaka’s consent.

_Fuck off. You have your posters of maths and shit. I’ve got my drawings. Remember the word ‘compromise’?_

“He’s pretty good.”

_‘Pretty good’?! I’ll give you pretty_ fucking _good!_

“Y-yes,” Kiyotaka stutters, trying to ignore the rage that builds in his gut. “He has a much better imagination than I do. He spends a lot of time in the evenings coming up with new ideas. I had to buy him more materials since he went through all of my own supply in a week.”

“Nice. He could give Hifumi a run for his money, huh?”

_That fucking piece of shit has_ nothing _on me! I’d like to see that pig draw half the shit that I do! Him and his lame-ass cartoons? Fuck that, I’ll blow him out the water! Tell him, Taka! Tell this_ bitch _just how fucking awesome I am!_

“What else has he drawn?”

“A-a little of everything. There are some of trees, some of planets and space, some of animals. I suppose it depends on what has inspired him that day. B-but no matter what he draws, he will always find a way to make it look amazing.”

“Does he draw people?”

Kiyotaka thinks back on the things Ishi has shown him. There have been people in some of them, but only silhouettes. Never anything with any real details. He hasn’t given a reason as to why he does this and to be honest, Kiyotaka hasn’t found himself wondering why until this very moment.

_There’s no reason. I just draw what I want to draw. He got a problem with that?_

“Not yet. He might do some day.”

“You think he’ll draw me?”

Leon’s head tilts back to rest against his shoulders, twisted slightly to peer in Kiyotaka’s direction. The light from behind his curtains glows around him, a veil of shadow slightly obscuring his features. But Kiyotaka can see his eyes; twinkling like stars in twilight, glowing like fireflies. And once again, his thoughts are reduced to liquid at the sight, pooling around behind his eyes and sloshing uselessly against his skull.

_Tell him to fuck right off._

“W-what…”

“I’d be a good muse, right?”

_No! Tell him to fuck off, Taka!_

“I…uh…”

His tongue is thick, his brain in pieces, he can’t think of anything apart from how wonderful it feels to be _this close_. A finger brushes against his wrist and his lungs stop working; the halo that billows through fire red hair makes him feel like he’s having a heart attack. One he would _gladly_ succumb to if it means he can keep looking at Leon forever.

“What do you think? You think I’d be a good subject to draw?”

_Yes, yes, a thousand times yes_. If Kiyotaka could draw, he’d fill his room with paintings of the boy in front of him and show them off for the entire world to see. He’d put ink to paper and try to capture this feeling right here, right now. But a feeling this intense, this _unknown_ , could never be reproduced by someone like him. Not even by Ishi.

“Taka?”

Closer and closer. Warmer and warmer. Softer and softer. Kiyotaka opens his mouth to answer…

“ _Get fucked_!”

His eyes widen in horror as he slaps a hand over his mouth, unable to stop the verbal bullet that flew straight between Leon’s eyes. He feels him hovering under the surface, his anger a furnace burning white hot. How long has it been since Ishi’s felt strongly enough to force Kiyotaka’s lips to scream his words? And what was the trigger this time? Kiyotaka isn’t sure. All that matters is Leon’s reaction; his face draining in colour ever so slightly, his body tense, the fireflies in his eyes fading as the smile drops away.

“I’m so sorry!”

Tears of humiliation prickle at his eyes as the apology slices through the tense air around them. Kiyotaka’s always cried far too easily; a weakness that far too many people have exploited in the past. Ishi’s told him how he needs to dial back, work on dulling the blade called ‘emotions’ so that he can get by a little easier. So that he’ll hurt less.

But it’s easier said than done. The emotions that live inside Kiyotaka are intense; almost rivalling Ishi’s passion and hatred. There are so many that have to be kept hidden and controlled, it’s no surprise that one or two slip through the cracks. And Kiyotaka would much rather they manifest as tears than curses or violence.

“Please forgive me!”

“Don’t worry about it…”

“I don’t know what came over him!”

“It’s fine, really. I know it wasn’t…”

“I had my guard down, just for a second! I should have been more careful! I should be able to stop him by now! It’s so stupid! _I’m_ so stupid! I wish I had better control and then maybe I could have…”

He doesn’t notice that his hands are wringing together; not until he feels a familiar warmth close over them. He doesn’t realise his eyes are closed; not until the colours that muddle his train of thought dim and lull to a comfortable darkness. His breath catches in his throat for a second as his eyelids flicker open, his vision slowly refocusing. And he’s immediately drawn in by the fireflies that dance inches away from his face.

“Hey.” The word is a butterfly, fluttering softly against Kiyotaka’s lips. “You’re good.”

And he _is_ good. Here in this moment, everything that came before seems forgotten. Even Ishi seems a distant memory. Just Kiyotaka and Leon. Leon and Kiyotaka. Just the two of them. Nothing else.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Kiyotaka wonders if Leon can hear how hard his heart is beating in his chest. Or if he can feel how his hands are trembling. He wonders if Leon’s mouth is as dry as his own, whether the air in his lungs feels thick like sludge in his company. He wonders if this is normal and Leon is like this with everyone else. And finds himself hoping that this moment is just for them.

_I’ve been here this whole time, you know._

Ishi’s voice isn’t loud but it still catches him off guard. His body jerks, hands pulling back involuntarily. They feel cold without Leon’s touch and the desire to take hold of them once more almost propels his arms forward. But as he glances up, there’s a new tightness in Leon’s shoulders that wasn’t there before.

Leon’s guard is back up. The moment is lost. The magic shattered.

_Oops. Sorry._

“You think we should start the assignment now?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Sweet.”

And then Leon’s gone; dropping onto the bed to lounge back on his elbows. The space between them is a barely a metre and yet it feels as if it’s a mile. A strange sensation curls in Kiyotaka’s stomach; like he’s watching the world keep turning without being able to keep up the pace. He’s fallen behind once again, struggling to breathe as his legs just keep on running towards a goal he never knew he was hoping to reach.

“You good?”

Kiyotaka nods, moving with forced purpose towards his desk chair. He could keep indulging in these strange feelings, keeping going around in painful circles until he forgets where he started. But what is that accomplishing? Nothing. He’s wasted enough of Leon’s time. For now, it’s best he keep his distance so as not to disappoint anyone else.

“Alright,” he says firmly, taking a seat and facing the other boy. “Shall we begin?”

The assignment is fairly straight forward; learn three things about both Oowada and Leon by asking any question he wants. And in return, they get to ask him any three questions they want. The same goes for both Oowada and Ishi, of course. But Ishi is reluctant to participate until Kiyotaka goes first. Or, to put it in Ishi’s words, humiliates himself first.

Kiyotaka doesn’t mind this arrangement. He prides himself in being the first to complete all of his schoolwork and any task that’s been asked of him. This is no exception. It may be out of his comfort zone, but he needs to learn these skills sooner or later. So if he needs to ‘humiliate’ himself in front of anyone, might as well be at a young age so he can hone his skills in time for his career.

“Sure. Throw me a question.”

Kiyotaka opens his mouth but halts almost immediately. He’s never been good at small talk. He doesn’t know what kind of questions are appropriate to ask a classmate. He’s been told far too many times growing up that he’s too nosy, too thoughtless, too weird. His entire existence has been called a nuisance and therefore he’s shied away from initiating any conversation that doesn’t serve a purpose.

So now that he _has_ to initiate a conversation, what if he asks the wrong question? Will Leon be expecting something mundane; like being asked his favourite colour? Will he be expecting something academic or intellectual? Or will he accept something a little deeper and allow Kiyotaka to pry about his private life? Things about his family or his childhood. Or perhaps the reason he changes the way he behaves depending on who he’s around?

_Why don’t you just ask him to…_

“You want me to start?”

The inside of his skull vibrates with the growl of annoyance. Kiyotaka knows that Ishi doesn’t particularly like the redhead, but he thought that he was starting to get used to him. Ever since that night, he’s stopped making the boy feel uncomfortable all the time. Kiyotaka thought that perhaps something happened between them; some revelation that brought the two of them closer as friends. But today just feels like they’re back to square one. At least for Ishi, anyway.

“Yes, please.”

“What’s your idea of fun?”

“Studying.”

The answer is robotic, rehearsed, mainly because he’s heard the question so many times before and knows the answer he’s _meant_ to give. But if Kiyotaka _really_ thinks about it, he doesn’t exactly find studying _fun_. He’s tried to convince himself that he does because he _needs_ to study to become the best and it’s the only way to force himself to spend hours upon hours alone in his room, surrounded by books, retaking old tests over and over until he memorises each and every answer. But he knows that if he really tries to pin a word down to describe studying, it isn’t the word ‘fun’. And from the unimpressed look on Leon’s face, he’s thinking the exact same thing.

“Really?”

“Of course. Studying is fundamental to my education and the only way I will achieve my goals.”

“Okay. But that’s not what I asked, is it? I asked what your idea of _fun_ is.”

Kiyotaka’s hands start wringing once again, his anxieties beginning to prick under his skin. What is he supposed to say? He hasn’t focused on anything other than studying ever since he was a child. The last time he did anything other than schoolwork whilst feeling guilt free was back when his mother was alive. But even then, he would still want to learn and ask her so many questions that he swore her ears would start bleeding.

But that’s just a memory. A faded reminder of the life they once had before he got too out of control. When he could have days without darkness, fleeting happiness with his family without worrying that he would shame them with his lack of self-control. Appearances are everything, after all. He learned that young. Too young, he now realises.

“I…”

“Hey. We don’t have to tell the Doc what we said today. You know that, right? So whatever you tell me, I’ll keep it a secret if you want me to. Just between the two of us.”

_The two of us_. If only that were true. Kiyotaka knows that Ishi is listening in, as normal. And he isn’t quite as good at keeping secrets…

_The fuck is_ that _supposed to mean?! I’ve said squat about the forest, I’ll have you remember! Besides, I’m actually relieved you’re not as much as a hardass as you try to pretend you are! Studying is fucking boring as shit and you clearly have something else in mind when you think of the word fun. So my lips are sealed, your secrets safe with me, blah blah, all that soppy bullshit. Just be honest and tell him._

“Okay,” he mumbles, peeking up at Leon nervously. “I…I like museums.”

“Yeah?”

“But it’s been a long time since I went to one for fun.”

“Why?”

“My mother was the one that took me. We used to go to one in the city every Saturday morning. We would spend hours going around because I would have questions about everything, even if I already knew the answer. Especially when it came to the space section.”

“Space?”

“Mmhmm. When I was younger, I was obsessed with space. I loved all the rockets and spacesuits, learning all about the galaxies and different stars. They had this interactive exhibit where you could click on a planet and it would show you real pictures and I would go through each photo one by one. Every single time. And when we nearly had to go, we used to sit in the planetarium and watch the big screen over our heads. I used to pretend I was an astronaut every time and got really annoyed at all the other people talking and ruining my fun.”

The memories come flooding back as he speaks. The colours that danced overhead, zipping and zooming faster than his eyes could move. The sound of the orchestra from the PA system overhead vibrating through the chair, keeping him from listening to the boy in his head for just those few blessed moments. The smile on his mother’s face as she too became absorbed by the moment; the stress of the week ebbing away under the stars.

“They were the best days of my life.”

He doesn’t realise he’s spoken until Leon moves, breaking him away from the treasured memory. The other boy is facing towards him now, chin resting gently against his fist. Eyes soft, smile softer.

“Your mom sounds awesome.”

“Yeah. She was.”

Kiyotaka feels the sadness tightening in his throat, the familiar burning in his eyes whenever he thinks of her. He wishes he could remember her without succumbing to the heartache. But he knew from the moment he left that he needed to stay strong, push past the grief and keep on going. It’s what she would have wanted.

_Are you sure about that?_

“Anyway,” he says loudly; face breaking into a tight smile and folding his emotions back into the box buried deep within. “My go now?”

Leon looks like he wants to say more but doesn’t. Kiyotaka hears a small part of him begging for the boy to continue, release him from the shackles and let him _finally_ grieve his mother the way he truly wants to. But his face gives nothing away; Kiyotaka’s own mask perfectly in place. And so the redhead simply nods.

“Yeah. Your go.”

_Now comes the difficult part,_ Kiyotaka thinks to himself. What does he ask? Leon didn’t ask too difficult a question and yet somehow got him to open up more than he has in the longest time. Kiyotaka knows he’s got skill when it comes to talking to people, but he didn’t know the boy was _this_ good at it. How is he supposed to follow up something like that?

_It isn’t a competition, dumbass. Ask him something easy to start with. Something just to get over the first hurdle._

“Okay,” Kiyotaka responds, both to Ishi and to Leon. “What’s your favourite school subject?”

Leon smiles at that, almost as if he was anticipating the question. Kiyotaka supposes it’s pretty obvious when he thinks about it. Of course he was going to ask a question relating to school. School is all he knows, after all.

But it got him past the first hurdle. Just like Ishi said. And that feels pretty good.

“Music. Future rockstar, remember?”

Kiyotaka starts to nod, scolding himself for asking such an obvious question. But then he realises that something is off. The redhead’s smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes. It’s subtle, but Kiyotaka’s spent enough time around him to realise that this right here, this is a lie.

_You’re getting better at this._

“Really?”

He asks the question before he really thinks about it, not entirely intending to vocalise it out loud. But now that he has, he realises he’s mimicked Leon’s response to his own question. But the reaction hasn’t gone down smoothly at all. Leon’s brow has furrowed, his jaw tightening and a spark in his eye that he recognises as panic.

“What? You got a problem with that?”

His voice is deeper, rough, trying it’s hardest to come across as if he’s strong. But the words are meant as a shield, to deflect anyone from seeing the thing he’s already seen. Kiyotaka isn’t fooled. He knows this mask too well.

“I think it’s amazing that you’ve come to Hope’s Peak and are working on something that isn’t your talent. So many people don’t bother and coast by, too caught up in the fact that they’re pretty much guaranteed a comfy life once they leave. But it takes a lot of hard work to do something you’re not naturally gifted at. Trust me, I know. And so if you want to chase that dream, then don’t let anyone stop you.”

Leon blinks at that, obviously taken aback by his choice of words and it makes Kiyotaka wonder if anyone has ever told him that before. From what he’s overheard throughout the first term, everyone around the boy have forced him down a road he doesn’t want to walk. His family, his teachers, even the girls that swoon around him. Leon is stuck with a talent he doesn’t want and his only way to escape was to rebel.

So Kiyotaka wonders if anyone has tried listening to what he really wants. Or if anyone has told him how proud they are of him, even if it’s not the path they want him to tread. From the look on the boy’s face, probably not. And that thought breaks his heart.

“But you lied,” he continues. “I’m not good at reading people, but I’ve learned to read _you_ just enough to know when something you say doesn’t sit right.”

His words hit hard, the reaction obvious. As Leon’s body withdraws, as his gaze drops and his teeth gnaw at his lower lip, the armour surrounding him chips ever so slightly. And it reveals so much vulnerability, so much innocence. _He’s scared_.

“I don’t know what you’re frightened of, but you don’t have to worry around me. I’m not going to tell anyone what you say. It’s just between us. Just like you said.”

There’s a beat of silence. Thick and uneasy, as if it will last forever. Kiyotaka wonders if he’s done the right thing. Or should he have let it go, left Leon’s secrets hidden away until he was ready to let them show. Has he done what he’s always done; widened the gap between them further and further with no knowing if it can ever be bridged…

_Just wait._

And then Leon changes. His shoulders relax, his jaw loosens. As he lifts his eyes, his face has opened up like a blooming flower; a smile so pure that shatters the final restraints that holds him back. And the result is the most beautiful thing that Kiyotaka has ever seen.

“Okay,” he says gently. “Ask me again.”

“What’s your favourite school subject?”

“Music.”

_What?! Seriously?! After all that fucking trouble he gives the same goddamn answer?!_

_No,_ Kiyotaka thinks. _He hasn’t_. There’s something that Leon left out this time. Something very important that changes everything that supposedly makes Leon Kuwata the boy that he is. Because this time, there was no lie in his eyes.

“Okay,” he replies simply. “Your turn.”

“You don’t want to ask more?”

He does. Of course he does. He wants to know everything about this boy because every time he learns something new, it makes his own world feel so much less frightening. But he also knows what it feels like to share something that alters people’s perspective. It’s exhausting, overwhelming. If he can save Leon this feeling just for now, it’s worth hanging on a little longer.

“Maybe another time.”

Leon nods just once, a breathy sigh deflating his body with relief. His eyes flutter close for a few seconds and Kiyotaka wonders if he can see tears clinging to his lashes. Either way, Leon takes a deep breath and his eyes open once more.

“Are you worried about what you say?”

“Huh?”

“Most of the time, you speak like you’re giving a speech. Like you’re thinking about every word before you say it. Is it because you’re worried about what you might say if you don’t think about it first?”

His father’s voice rings in his mind. _People will have a predetermined opinion of you long before you meet them_ , he told him after his first day at school. _Make sure you’re ready to prove them wrong with the power of your words._ Just because of his surname, his association with the corrupt Prime Minister who flew too close to the sun, he’s had to choose his words very carefully his entire life to make sure he never proves those who doubt him right.

“Yeah.”

“Because of who your grandad is?”

“You know about him?”

“Who doesn’t?”

_Of course_. There was a small part of him hoping that there would be someone out there that didn’t know of the scandal that haunts him. That there would be someone that would make an opinion of him without those preconceptions. And that that someone would be this boy right here.

“Does it get tiring? Having to think before you speak all the time?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it tiring right now?”

Kiyotaka opens his mouth to say tell him that _of course_ it’s tiring, it’s _always_ tiring, but then he thinks it through. The usual strain that weighs him down in a social interactions aren’t there. The pressure of being the perfect person has loosened and right now, in this moment, Kiyotaka feels like a normal boy who’s having a conversation with his friend.

He can’t stop the smile that comes.

“No.”

There’s that smile again. That wonderful, world changing smile on the face of the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen. And it’s all for _him_.

“Good. I want you to feel comfortable around me.”

“ _Do_ you feel comfortable around me?”

“Is that your second question?”

It wasn’t going to be. Kiyotaka was sure he was going to ask something much more interesting, or at least put a little more thought into it. But now, having asked the question, it feels like it’s definitely the right one. And so he responds with a confident nod.

“It is.”

“Yes.”

No hesitation. No fumbling. One simple word that plugs a hole that has always been in his chest perfectly. And in this very moment, Kiyotaka _finally_ feels complete.

“Really?” he asks, voice shaking as he fails to control the happiness bubbling in his throat.

“Yeah.”

“W-why?”

The redhead tilts his head, face scrunching slightly in confusion. To him, it must seem like a ridiculous question. Even though he trusts that what Leon is saying is true, Kiyotaka’s own demons still linger. They still try to poison him, to consume his thoughts with self-doubt and self-loathing. And they’re frantically trying to smash through and shatter this new, complete Kiyotaka.

“ _Why_?”

“Yeah.”

The next few seconds feel like an age, as if he’s stuck in time. Anticipation has this effect on him; dragging out his anxieties until they’re almost unbearable. It makes his chest burn, his head pound, his nails bite into the palm of his hand. But Leon huffs out a chuckle before dropping his gaze and then his next words leave all of those things forgotten.

“Because I get tired too.”

The boy’s gaze flickers back up and for a second, Kiyotaka feels like he’s looking in a mirror. Leon looks as if he’s drowning, trapped by an invisible force that’s relentless in dragging him under. His head is barely above the water, gasping at air that comes in tiny pockets at irregular intervals. And yet he tries to smile, tries to pretend that everything is okay. Even though he’s dying on the inside.

“Everything is so _loud_ ,” Leon continues, this time holding Kiyotaka’s gaze with every word. “My friends, my family, baseball, music. It’s all so fucking _exhausting_. I feel like it never ends and sometimes it’s hard to breathe. But around you…”

He pauses, his fingers shifting slightly to fiddle with the hem of his sleeve. Another small chuckles breathes out of him as a frosting of pink gently settles on his cheekbones. And for a moment, Kiyotaka loses the ability to breathe himself.

“Around you, it’s okay to be tired. It’s okay to be quiet. And because of that, being around you make me feel like I can breathe again.”

Kiyotaka can’t stop the tears now. They slide down his cheeks, warm droplets splashing on the tightened fists in his lap as he absorbs every single word that Leon just said. How can _he_ , someone so broken and beyond repair, make someone like Leon feel like that? How can he be someone’s lifeline when he’s barely keeping float himself?

_Because that’s what friends do._

_Yes_. As he falls into the eyes of the boy in front of him, Kiyotaka feels no doubt anymore. This boy is his friend. His very own, very special, very beautiful friend. He doesn’t need to hear it out loud because Leon’s just told him everything he could have ever dreamed of hearing.

“You okay?”

“Mmhmm.”

“You’re crying.”

“Yeah,” Kiyotaka laughs, covering his eyes with the back of his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I do this a lot.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m just…I’m happy, is all.”

And he laughs some more because he _is_ happy. He’s so happy he feels like he could burst. It flows through his veins like honey, swelling in his lungs and gushing out in a song he’s never sung before. A song with no lyrics, no rhythm or meaning; just pure, unfettered happiness.

“Hey, Taka?”

“Hmm?”

“Why were you looking at me in class?”

Kiyotaka drops his arm, damp eyes flitting gently over Leon’s face. His third question. _This_ is his third question. And the look on his face says he wants the answer just as much as Kiyotaka wanted his own answered earlier.

_You can’t tell him the real answer._

He wonders if he should listen. Ishi has a tendency to be right in social situations and he’s severely lacking in those skills. But what Ishi doesn’t know is how strong this feeling is right now. How bright Leon’s eyes are shining. How warm his smile is. Ishi may be able to see through Kiyotaka’s eyes, but he will never be able to truly _feel_ the way he does.

_If you tell him, you’ll regret it._

_No, I won’t._ Kiyotaka knows this in his bones, in every fibre of his being. Leon won’t think any differently of him. Because Kiyotaka has hope that this boy sees the world the same way that he does. And if he does, he needs to know the real reason.

“Taka?”

_Don’t do it._

“Yeah?”

_I mean it. Don’t do it._

“Why were you looking at me in class?”

_Don’t fucking do it!_

“Because you’re beautiful.”

His voice is a whisper, only just audible over the beating of his own heart. But Leon hears it. Kiyotaka knows from the way his eyes widen. How they glisten with tears that slowly spill over rosy cheeks. How his mouth tightens, wobbles, then bursts into another breathtaking smile. Full of happiness and insecurity all at once.

“Really?”

“Really.”

The boy laughs and cries at the same time, a wonderful and heart breaking sound all at once. Kiyotaka’s heart swells in his chest at the sight, watching as his friend battles with emotions that he himself experienced just a few moments ago. And slowly, the tears win and Leon sobs into his hands. Finally letting go for what must be an age.

His feet move on their own accord and he doesn’t know he’s on the bed until his fingers slowly curl around Leon’s hand. It’s damp, slippery with tears as he guides it towards him. For a moment, the redhead seems timid; hand shaking as it slowly rest over Kiyotaka’s chest. But as he lifts his watery eyes and catches sight of Kiyotaka’s smile, his fingers clamp down and tangle deep into the hall monitor’s school jacket and it seems he has no intent on letting go.

“You okay?” Kiyotaka whispers.

“Yeah,” Leon responds with a teary smile. “I’m just happy, is all.”

Here they are. Leon and Taka. Taka and Leon. Just the two of them in a world that is so messy, so loud and yet they’re still here. They’re still fighting to stay above the water with a smile on their face. It’s just this time, they’re together. And maybe this way, breathing will be that little bit easier.

“Can I ask my last question?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you always be this boy around me? No more pretending, no more struggling alone. I want to get to know _this_ boy, the _real_ you. I want you to drop the mask and let me see who you really are. Will you do that?”

Kiyotaka feels Leon’s hand on his knee, feels his laugh puff across his face as he begins to lean forward. Almost on instinct, he closes his eyes as the warmth of Leon’s forehead rests gently against his own. Their noses brush as Leon nods, breath mingling together as Kiyotaka allows the redhead to entwine their fingers together. Softly locking in place against Kiyotaka’s heart.

“I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HGGNNNNNN I'M SO SORRY THIS IS SO LATE! Life got lifey - family illness, exams, work...it all just piled on. BUT I've finally done it. It's been an age, but I hope this was worth the wait. I'm really quite proud of this chapter seeing as the true softness has finally begun. It's been a while since I wrote romance and I'm really happy with how it turned out. 
> 
> As always, please let me know if you're enjoying this! And thank you to everyone that already has - it really boosts my confidence in what I'm doing and let's me know I'm on the right track. So please, leave a comment either here or find me on Tumblr at emiefaunwrites. Love to chat to fellow writers and Ishileon/Ishimondo fans!
> 
> Once again, sorry for the long wait! Much love guys x


	15. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HGNNNNNN 10.K WORDS...
> 
> Just in case you're interested, the song in question is Live Wire by Excision - in case you wanna get in the mooooood.
> 
> Enjoy!

Ishi is _fucking exhausted_.

It all started at 4am this morning. His body jerked awake involuntarily, heart racing and pillow soaked in sweat and a second hand fear coursing in his veins. And over the sounds of his own heavy breathing, he could hear the sound of Taka whimpering pathetically in his head. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the boy had another nightmare and it _also_ doesn’t take a genius to figure out that no amount of questions will have ever resulted in answers.

For two people living in the same body, it’s surprising that there could be any secrets. But Ishi knows from experience that he’s able to hide his antics from Taka should he want to. He’s abused it in the past and knows that there’ll come a time where he does it again. What he didn’t account for was that the raven haired boy had the skills to do the same.

He has to give him credit; the boy can learn fast.

It would be _so_ much easier if they shared dreams. That way, Taka wouldn’t have to tell him the problem. Ishi would just _know_. But unfortunately, Ishi doesn’t dream. He never has done. Whenever he goes to sleep, it’s as if he fades into the darkness; almost as if he disappears from existence. And then he wakes up hours later as if nothing ever happened.

But Taka, the boy with no imagination, dreams every night. And in his dreams, he sees a forest. A forest that Ishi has only glimpsed, by some sort of weird fluke, through his own art. Art that flowed through him instinctively, without any planning or reference. Art that is now hidden under the bed, banished from discussion and meant to be forgotten.

How can Ishi forget something so important? Something that causes the person that he’s meant to be protecting so much grief? He _can’t_. It’s just not possible. The thought alone tears at his insides; the desire to break his promise like a cauldron of scalding water on the verge of overflowing. And yet he can do _nothing_ to relieve the pressure.

All Ishi could do was try to calm Taka down. Sitting in the darkness with the boy, offering words that _should_ mean more but come out hollow and indifferent. It fucking _sucked_ that he couldn’t do more, but what else _can_ he do? Unless he has more information, unless Taka is willing to share, this is all he’s got.

No. That’s a lie. And he knows it.

He could have gone to get Kuwata. He considered it but it wasn’t long before his own bitter pride kicked in. Sure, the redhead has far more experience in helping Taka in those sorts of situations and _sure_ , Ishi’s _beyond_ shit at this, but that’s not the fucking point. This is _Ishi’s_ job. How the fuck is he going to get better at it if he wimps out and gets help whenever things get dicey?

But arrogance does nothing to soothe the ice cold grip of guilt.

Watching as Taka sobbed against the floor, Ishi _knew_ he could do more. He _knew_ Kuwata would do more; the whole hand-holding thing, the sappy smiles as he weaves his words through Taka’s skin. But the very idea made him feel nauseous. Because he doesn’t _do_ touching. He doesn’t _do_ kindness. He doesn’t do _anything_ that Taka so obviously needs.

But he’s too _fucking_ _proud_ to get the one person that _will_.

And that’s how he ended up spending the whole night. Stubbornly wallowing in guilt as his counterpart suffered in front of him, awkwardly throwing out the occasional word or two just so that there was _something_ other than the sound of crying. So when the boy finally stopped crying, when he smiled wetly up at him and thanked him, regret twisted in his gut. And as he nodded stiffly, all he could wonder was what the fuck he’d done to deserve thanks.

The next thing Taka did was reach out his hand, a hopeful expression on his face. It was nothing more than small gesture, one that he was mimicking from their last face-to-face conversation. Something that Ishi himself had done for him not so long ago. And if Ishi was a better person, he would have taken his hand and given Taka something _. Anything_.

But he’s not. Instead, he turned away and walked back towards the door. And tried to erase the wounded look in Taka’s eyes from his memory.

The sun was starting to come through the curtains when he finally stepped through the light of the doorway. Two hours. That’s how long he spent comforting Taka. And since he didn’t spend that time doing anything close to sleeping, his body was pretty much running on fumes with no hope of relief. Taka doesn’t allow naps, after all.

Unfortunately for Ishi, he doesn’t deal well with tiredness. He doesn’t deal _at all_.

_I’m sorry._

“It’s not your fault.”

_Yes, it is._

“No. It’s not. You’re dealing with shit. I get it.”

_That doesn’t stop it from being my fault._

“Seriously, Taka. Shut the fuck up.”

_I just ruin everything._

Ishi rubs his face, sighing heavily as the weight of those words claw at his chest. _You’re not the one that ruins everything_ , he thinks bitterly, digging his nails into his scalp at the shame that burns in his stomach. If Ishi was a better person, he could have stopped this from happening. If Ishi was a better person, Taka would want to talk to him about it. If Ishi was a better person…

_Please don’t blame yourself._

“Who the fuck else is to blame?”

_I’m not worth getting upset over._

“That’s not fucking true and you know it.”

_It’s okay. You can tell me the truth._

“I _am_ telling the goddamn truth.”

_No, you’re not. You wouldn’t be getting angry otherwise._

“I’m _not_ fucking _angry_!”

Fists slams down onto legs, the burning on his skin only mild in comparison to the molten lava of regret tricking up his throat. He’s _not_ angry at Taka. He’s angry at _himself_. He _hates_ the feeling that’s knotting in his stomach, stinging in his eyes. He _hates_ the fact that he can’t do the _one_ thing he’s meant to do. And he _hates_ Taka’s words; words that are _intended_ to reassure but in reality do nothing more than self-mutilate.

_Please calm down._

“Shut up!”

_You’re getting wound up. You need to…_

“Don’t tell me what to do, asshole!”

_Ishi, please, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…_

“You know what? _Fuck this_.”

Ishi propels himself off the bed, forcing himself into clothes. Clothes that he’s never even worn because Taka lost his nerve whenever he wanted to put them on. _They’re just too much_ , he would say. _I just don’t feel comfortable wearing them._

Well _fuck that_.

He’s _going_ to put on white top with the ripped sleeves with the screaming skull on the chest. He’s _going_ to put on the red and black arm length fingerless gloves. He’s _going_ to put on the jeans with the chains and rips and zippers. He’s _going_ to put on the spiked choker necklace. He’s _going_ to put on the neon beanie hat with cat ears.

And he’s _going_ to love _every fucking second_ as he thrashes around _his_ room to _his_ favourite song.

He discovered music not too long ago. _Real_ music, not the classical bullshit that Taka listens to once in a blue moon. No, Ishi’s kind of music is _far_ superior. It’s the kind that shakes your brain, has a beat that you _feel_ rather than hear, that makes your body move violently, uncontrollably. It can have words but that’s not why you listen. You listen because it’s just pure, uninhibited, chaotic _noise_.

Kuwata introduced him to it during that dumbass assignment the Doc gave them. Ishi knew he needed to get it over and done with so he invited himself over. But when he got there, the redhead was listening to something in his room. Something that called to Ishi’s inner madness. It took him a few minutes before he could pull himself out of the trance it lured him into and his fist was slamming down on the door with a new sense of excitement.

Kuwata called it dubstep. Ishi calls it heaven.

The questions were over as fast as he possible just so he could hear some more. As surprised as the redhead was, he was more than happy to oblige. What was meant to be a quick, uninteresting interaction turned into a few hours and Ishi finally found a new thing to like about Leon Kuwata. About fucking time, right?

But that’s beside the point!

The volume is turned up to full, the whirring and screeching of the track filling the room. The beat is so heavy that Ishi can _feel_ it in his chest, rattling around in his ribs and pressing against his lungs. _Fucking perfect_. He can’t stop the grin that twists at his lips, the excitement of what’s to come almost too much to handle.

He can feel his body start to move, start to give over to the insanity that sparks in his mind. The tapping of his feet, the bopping of his head, the slight sway to the beat. It builds with the rhythm and he’s becoming slightly more erratic, more impulsive. Unlike Taka, Ishi can move his body fluidly, unashamedly. So when that bass drops, he’s in full throw; lost to the music.

_It’s too loud!_

Taka’s voice is barely audible through the commotion, which is _exactly_ what Ishi wanted. He’s _done_ with the feeling of guilt, of inadequacy, of stupid _fucking feelings_. All he wants to do is move on autopilot, belt out the few words that he can make out at the top of his lungs and just _exist_. He wants his lungs to burn, his muscles to ache, the sweat to pour down his face. He wants to put his entire body into forgetting _everything_ and _everyone_ and just be _him_.

But then the music is gone, stopped mid flow with no warning. Ishi’s body jolts with a pain like sensation at the sudden silence, his ears still ringing as he spins around. And there, by the music player, is a very angry looking Mondo.

“The _fuck_ you playin’ at?!”

Mondo’s word barely register. Without the music to distract him, the emotions that he was trying to ignore begin to return and his thoughts start to spiral. The forest, his spiteful pride, _that look_ in Taka’s eyes. They all take hold at once; swirling in his head, gripping his chest, seizing his lungs.

_What’s wrong?_

“It’s early in the the fuckin’ _mornin_ ’, Ishi! I live right _next door_! I’m tryin’ to get a lie in but all I can hear from yer fuckin’ room is _noise_! How the _fuck_ am I supposed to sleep with…”

He knows that Mondo is shouting but the words sound like nonsense, white noise, static. His body folds, hands resting on his thighs as he tries to suck in the air around him. But it’s so thick, curdling in his throat, suffocating him as his vision starts to swim. He can’t breathe. Oh fuck, _he can’t breathe_.

_Are you okay?_

Why is he like this? Why is he so _fucking weak_ when Taka needs someone strong? How is he supposed to protect them, keep them safe, if he can’t do one _simple_ _fucking thing_ right? He’s meant to be strong. He’s meant to be strong, strong, _fucking strong_ …

“Ishi?”

_Failure. Pointless. Unnecessary._ _Weak_. The words are _so loud_ in his head, screaming and clawing at his skin, burning themselves into his brain. It feels like his skull will crack and his heart will explode and his skin is peeling off and his eyes are burning. He can’t see, he can’t breathe, he can’t do _anything_ because he’s weak, weak, _fucking weak_ …

_Let me help you._

Taka’s words in his head sting like poison, the hand on his arm burns like fire. _They pity you_. _Only the weak need pitying._ He flings his body backwards, only to realise that he’s crumbled to the floor. And that only fuels the fire as his thoughts become deafening.

His eyelids squeeze shut, shutting out any images that try to frighten him. _I’m strong._ His lungs drag in air through gritted teeth and push it out with all his strength, forcing out the fire in his lungs that threaten to scald him. _I’m strong_. His fingers tear at his scalp, pushing back the intrusive thoughts that are drowning him.

You’re weak, Ishi. _Stop!_ Weak little boy that does nothing right. _Shut up_! A boy who cares about no one but himself. _Stop it!_ Taka doesn’t need you. _That’s not true_! He’d be better off without you. _No!_ Weak, weak, weak. _No!_ Isn’t that right, Ishi?

_Let me out!_

“No!”

_Let me out! I can help you!_

“No!”

_You need my help! Please, let me do this for you!_

“ _No_! I’m _strong_! I’m _strong_! I’m not weak! I’m not weak! I’m _fucking strong_!”

And then there’s a beat under his fingers. A gentle rhythm; thump, thump, thumping like a drum. Welcoming and warm, pooling gently in his palms and trickling slowly into his veins, a sense of familiarity softly dousing the fire. His fingers bunch in the thin material, knuckles brushing against a calloused palm as they tense. And as he opens his eyes to meet a lavender gaze, Ishi feels like a child.

“I’m strong,” he whimpers.

“Yeah, yer strong,” is the response.

The walls he’s worked so hard to build, the guilt, the insecurity, the inadequacy. They all come crashing down in a rush; a tidal wave of relief and sadness and fear and anxiety flooding his senses all in one go. The burning in his eyes overflow into searing tears, broken sobs biting at his throat as his body tries to instinctively fight the feeling.

But at the sight of a soft smile from the biker, the weight of everything Ishi has carried for his entire life is finally lifted. And suddenly, he can _breathe_.

Minutes pass. Or perhaps its hours. Hell, it could be _years_ for all Ishi cares. All that matters is that an amount of time passes before the tears run dry and his body slumps in exhaustion. And still, Mondo is there. Waiting patiently, quietly, for whatever the _fuck_ this was to pass. It’s only after a particularly ungraceful sniffle that he speaks.

“How ya feelin’?”

“Dumb.”

He does. Now that the pressure has been released, the tension that had been building for who knows how long has eased, Ishi feels ridiculous. Empty, tired and fucking _ridiculous_.

“But better, yeah?”

Ishi can feel himself pout childishly at the question. He almost wishes he _didn’t_ feel better, that crying in such a pathetic way had absolutely zero effect on him. But he _does_ feel better, and he’s not a liar. So he squashes his pride for just one second and nods, trying to tell himself he’s not embarrassed. Although the speed in which his cheeks burn at Mondo’s smirk has him throwing his gaze to the side.

“Bite me.”

“In yer dreams.”

A snort of laughter cuts through the awkwardness, a grin that Ishi can’t control stretching his cheeks until they’re sore. He doesn’t quite understand how easy it is for Mondo to make things feel normal again. He doesn’t try and pander the way Kuwata does. He doesn’t try and ask lots of questions like the Doc does. The boy knows just what to say and when to say it.

Like right now. He _knows_ the biker is practically choking on the desire to find out why Ishi freaked out like he did. His eyes are full of questions, brimming with curiosity, and yet his face remains neutral. If Ishi didn’t know how to read people they way he does, it would have easily been missed. And _that’s_ the best fucking thing about Mondo Oowada; he’s as good at hiding his feelings as Ishi is at reading them.

Untangling his fingers, he smears his damp face on his shoulder. He’s snuffling like a pig, but fuck it. He doesn’t care about grace or delicacy. He just wants to move past this _thing_ as fast as possible.

And, of course, Mondo reads the room.

“He let ya wear them then, huh?”

Glancing back down at himself, Ishi finds that he almost forgot that he’d dressed like this. And much to his dismay, immediately reaches out to Taka for permission. He shouldn’t _need_ to check. He should be allowed his own clothes whenever he wants. But regardless, the question is asked before he can really think because of that small knot of guilt that slowly tangles in his chest.

_It’s okay. You can wear what you want from now on._

“Holy shit.”

Ishi doesn’t even realise he’s spoken until Mondo hums questioningly, and even then he doesn’t quite know how to respond. There was something strange in Taka’s voice. A tone that doesn’t quite make sense. It was soft, _too_ soft. Almost on the verge of pity but not quite. Normally, being spoke to by the raven haired boy like that would make him squirm uncomfortably. But for once, just this once, Ishi feels warm. Grateful.

“Did ya wear him down or somethin’ then?”

No. That’s not it. That’s not it at all. But all the same, he finds himself slowly nodding in response. Once again, his own unyielding pride has taken control. Steering the ship towards a storm that he could easily avoid just to prove a pathetic point to some unknown entity. He’d rather end up battered and broken than take the easy way out.

He knows that Mondo can see through his bullshit. He’s not exactly tried to _hide_ the fact that he’s lying. But like the legend he is, Mondo simply nods in return before widening the gap between them to sit on the floor.

“It’s about time,” he says with a lopsided grin. “Ya look badass.”

_Yeah_ , Ishi thinks to himself, feeling his own lips twist once more into a grin. _Yeah, I_ do _look badass._ That’s all that matters, right? Fuck all that feelings bullshit. He’s got no time for that. He’s _strong_. And to be strong, he needs to _look_ strong. And he does. Just like…

Wait.

“The fuck is wrong with your hair?”

The biker’s signature pompadour is missing; a vital part of the boy’s entire appearance. Borderline ridiculous but in such a way that it is _entirely_ awesome. One look at that bad boy and you know not to fuck with Mondo Oowada.

But without it, the biker looks…well, _ordinary_. When he is _far_ from that. Everything that Ishi admires about Mondo is how un-ordinary he is. He stands out in a crowd because of a presence that just radiates off of him; an aura of strength and confidence that draws Ishi in like a moth to a flame.

Right now, though, he doesn’t feel that. Right now, Mondo looks like a _boy_ rather than a _man_. And Ishi’s comment catches him off guard, his hands flying to his hair almost in panic.

“What’s wrong with my hair?!”

“It looks weird.”

“What, because it’s down?”

“Yeah. The fuck’s up with that?”

“Well, if ya hadn’t woken me up with yer shitty music, I would’ve had time to put it up!”

“Don’t blame me for _you_ looking weird.”

“I’ll fuckin’ blame ya all I _want_ , asshole! An’ I’m _not_ weird lookin’!”

“Uh, yeah. You are.”

A flash of anger flares in the boy’s eyes, one that would send a chill down anyone else’s spine. But Ishi isn’t afraid of Mondo. Not even slightly. So instead he smirks at him, leaning back on his arms confidently as he stares down the boy that’s trying hard to shake his nerve. And almost as fast as it came, the lavender eyes ease back to normal.

“ _I_ call ya badass an’ _you_ call me weird. What kinda bro are ya?”

“The best kind.”

_I think his hair looks nice._

_Of course you do_ , Ishi thinks as he rolls his eyes. Anything that makes someone blend in would obviously go down well with the other boy. That being said, he would still find some kind of criticism if he looked hard enough. Mondo’s hair is long; long and probably in very poor condition because it’s quite clearly bleached. A kind of golden blonde on top of what is obviously his natural brunette hair. He’s clearly gone out of his way to change up his appearance and the result is _awesome_.

Ishi would change his hair if he could. Sure, he’s managed to convince Taka to change his clothing but there are certain things about his body that still scream Kiyotaka Ishimaru. If he could dye his hair white without giving Taka a heart attack, he would do it in a second. But even Ishi knows his limits and fucking so permanently with Taka’s physical appearance is a boundary he won’t cross.

And yet Mondo managed to it. He’s had the freedom to become the person he wants to be because he must not have liked the person he was. He has badass hair, badass clothes, badass _everything_ when he puts his mind to it. Sure, Kuwata’s done the same. But he’s still just ordinary when it boils down to it. He’s so far on Taka’s wavelength that he could never even compete with people like Mondo and Ishi…

“I need a smoke.” Mondo’s voice brings Ishi back into focus, watching as the taller boy stands up in front of him. “Ya comin’?”

The question is more of a formality, the expected answer to be no. Because it’s _always_ a no. _Taka_ will always make it a no. And sure enough, he can feel Taka’s discomfort. He can feel the moral compass within the boy struggling to be free. He half expects to rapidly switch out just to yell and put his foot down.

But much to his surprise, it never comes. Instead, he can feel Taka’s presence start to fade. And his voice barely a whisper before he disappears into silence.

_Go have fun. I’ll reprimand him for smoking later._

“I take it that’s a no?”

“I’m coming.”

The other boy seems momentarily as surprised as Ishi feels, but recovers quickly with a grin. A large hand covers his own as he’s dragged to his feet, dragged to the door and dragged down the hall. Normally, Ishi isn’t dragged _anywhere_. But today has been so fucking weird on so many levels already. So what’s the harm in giving up control for a few moments?

After popping briefly into his room to grab his shoes and gang jacket, Mondo’s pulling him towards the stairs. Ishi’s not a smoker and hasn’t ever joined Mondo on a smoke break. It’s common for the boy to totally avoid him whenever he plans to light a cigarette on school property. Not because Ishi’s a grass, because he’s _not_. But wherever Ishi goes, Taka’s there too. And it would be an understatement to say that he’s not so chill about breaking the rules.

Ishi’s expecting to head towards the ground floor so nearly trips over his own feet as he’s pulled towards the ascending staircase. Why would they be heading upstairs? Surely it would be better to head out into the playing field, far away from the building. That’s where _he_ would go if he was able to escape the dictator in his head…

But no. Mondo’s heading up and up and up. Further and further away from the most obvious location. And it’s when they finally turn the corner to see the doorway to the rooftop, Ishi’s mind finally clicks. _Of course_ , he grins. _Taka would_ never _think to check a restricted area_.

The air is cool as they step out, the cold biting at Ishi’s face as it breaks into a happy grin. Darting away from the other boy, Ishi barely manages to stop in time as he’s spellbound by the sights around him. The view is _incredible_ ; it feels like he can see the entire city from all the way up here. The people below are like ants; insignificant and powerless while he towers above them.

“You’d love this, Taka.”

The words are but a whisper in the wind as he wonders if the other boy can hear him. Because he would. If Taka could get past the fact they’re breaking the rules then he would be overcome with all those sappy emotions he lets control him so often. But it seems that he truly has left him be when he gets no response. And in the middle of all the excitement, Ishi can’t help but feel a little disappointed.

“It’s good, huh?”

The biker’s voice forces his gaze over his shoulder, dragging him momentarily away from the hypnotising views. It doesn’t take long for Mondo to make his way next to him; his strides long as the difference in their height suddenly becomes apparent. Up here, Mondo seems to tower over him and Ishi suddenly feels just as insignificant as the people below. But the morning sunlight catches the side of his face, lighting up his lopsided smile and catching the whites of his teeth. If Ishi was even remotely as gross as Taka, he might think the boy was beautiful.

But he’s not gross. He’s badass, and badass people don’t think like that. So instead, he nods.

“How did you find it?”

“Leon found it a couple of weeks back. Bein’ a ‘restricted’ area an’ all, we figured Taka wouldn’t come searchin’ for us up here.”

“That’s pretty smart for a dumbass like Kuwata.”

“Ah, Leon ain’t so bad. He’s pretty good at findin’ loopholes. Just no good at keepin’ quiet when questioned. He’d spill the beans _so_ fast if Taka thought to ask.”

Ishi doesn’t doubt him. Ever since that dumb assignment, the two have been spending loads of time together. Whatever dependency Taka has developed in Kuwata, it seems the feeling is mutual. And _holy shit_ is the redhead different when they’re alone. There’s no showing off, no overbearing personality. Just an ordinary boy that seems genuinely happy to be in the company of a friend.

It’s so different to how he and Mondo act around each other. There’s never any uncomfortable silence between the two of them, but it’s totally different to the silence between Taka and Kuwata. It always feels as if there’s conversations happening between them and yet there’s no words. A mutual understanding of something that Ishi can’t quite figure out. Sure, he watches from the inside and hears Taka’s thoughts. But he doesn’t share his emotions so has no way of truly understanding what’s going on, and the look in Kuwata’s eyes is not one that he’s accustomed to.

Is that a bad thing? Should he be looking at Mondo and feeling whatever emotions that Taka feels about Kuwata? There’s a strong sense of _something_ whenever Kuwata’s around. Something that he doesn’t think Taka even fully comprehends. But it’s there; undeniably so. And yet when he looks at Mondo, he doesn’t get that same feeling.

Is it because they never really talk? Well, they _talk_. But not _really_ talk. There’s talks of Mondo’s gang and epic stories of the fights he’s won, talks of how shit school is, talks about Ishi’s drawings. But there’s never much more than that. They don’t have the long, drawn out conversations about feelings and memories and all that bullshit that Taka and Kuwata do. And when Ishi really thinks about it, he doesn’t know all that much about the boy he calls his bro.

“What’s on yer mind, bro?”

“Why do you hang out with me?”

Insecurity seeps out of him in the form of that sentence. All the doubts, all the comparing himself to other people, things he _never_ wants to admit he feels. It all is revealed in those five words. And unsurprisingly, Mondo hears it; his brow arching as his features drop into confusion.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“We know nothing about each other.”

“So?”

“Shouldn’t that matter?”

“Not really.”

For once, Ishi doesn’t believe him. It’s not that he thinks he’s lying. Mondo wouldn’t _lie_ to him. But he doesn’t know what Ishi sees. He doesn’t know how different they are in comparison to the other two. Ishi hasn’t got much reference for friendship, but he doesn’t think it should be _that_ different. And yet it is.

“Besides,” Mondo continues. “I get a good vibe from ya.”

“A ‘good vibe’?”

“Yeah. I don’t just hang out with people, ya know. I’ve got to have a good feelin’ about them. It’s like…a gut feelin’. An’ my gut’s never let me down.”

“So what does your gut say about me?”

Mondo doesn’t react immediately, choosing instead to observe the boy in front of him. There’s a strange look on his face, one that Ishi hasn’t seen before. It makes him uneasy, questioning whether he should be risking the good thing that he’s got because of some senseless insecurity he’s feeling. But the look quickly flicks to something frightening, a menacing smirk pulling at the biker’s lips.

Ishi doesn’t get a chance to dodge because in a split second, he finds himself squawking in surprise as a strong arm wraps around his neck and drags him into pure muscle. His fists collide against the biker’s chest uselessly as he curses. The response he gets is a hearty laugh and knuckles brushing roughly against his scalp through his beanie. And of course, that only makes him struggle harder.

“Get the _fuck_ off!”

“Aww, what’s up, Ishi?”

“Don’t be a dick! Let go!”

“Why don’t ya make me?”

_Wish granted_ , Ishi thinks to himself. Grinning madly, his slams his foot down on the other boy’s and revels in the yelp he gets. As soon as the guard is dropped, Ishi returns the favour; springing into the air to wrap his arm around the taller boy’s neck and pulling him down to his level. As his knuckles dig into Mondo’s hair, he can hear the other boy battle between laughing and struggling.

“How’s it feel now, _bitch_?”

“Ya little shit!”

“You give up yet?”

“Like hell!”

The next few minutes are full of laughter; both boys finding new ways to disarm the other and get the upper ground before being tricked back into submission. Battered and bruised, they eventually tumble to the ground as the laughter finally overtakes them. The stone floor feels cool on the back of Ishi’s neck; a complete contrast to the warmth of Mondo’s skin against his palm as he half-heartedly pushes against his chest. The biker has managed to pin him down in a final attempt of victory and Ishi simply hasn’t got the strength to fight back anymore.

“Ya give?”

“I give.”

With a bark of victory, Mondo finally flops to the ground beside him and Ishi finds himself staring up at the sky. It’s a rich blue, clear and cloudless. His own heavy breathing puffs out above him, lingering gently until it slowly begins to disappear. Fading slowly into the vastness overhead.

_Yes_ , he thinks to himself as a small smile creeps onto his face. _There’s something special about this place_. There’s nothing to obscure the view; no buildings or trees or people. Right here, right now, it feels like it’s just the two of them. Alone in the world with nothing but the sky. An endless horizon ready for the taking if they simply reached out to take it. And as a boy that’s spent his life in the shell of another, Ishi feels freer than he ever has done.

“Can I ask ya a question?”

Tilting his head to the side, Ishi pulls himself away from the infinity of blue to meet a new colour. A colour that, despite being a small amount in comparison to the endless blue above him, still feels larger than life whenever he catches sight of it. A colour that Ishi suddenly realises needs to be present in more of his paintings. Because lavender is _far_ too underrated.

“If you want.”

“What’s it like…in there?”

Mondo doesn’t need to elaborate anymore. Ishi knows exactly what he means. Despite it being obvious that the other boy knows about his and Taka’s circumstances, he’s never asked for much detail about it. _No one_ has, now that he thinks about it. Everyone skirts around the topic and try to pretend that everything is normal.

There was a part of him that knew someone would cave eventually but he didn’t expect it to be Mondo. He thought it would be Kuwata or the Doc; both of them having curiosity burning in their fucking eyes whenever they’re in a session that he was _sure_ one of them would crack first. But no. It’s Mondo. It’s his bro.

And he doesn’t know how he feels about that.

“Ya don’t have to answer if ya don’t want,” Mondo continues, obviously picking up on the tension that surrounds them. “I just thought…”

The biker’s brow furrows as he trails off, a look of uncertainty flickering in his eyes before he turns his eyes to sky. There’s an unfamiliar vulnerability on his face, one that doesn’t belong. A sting of guilt nips at Ishi’s gut, the feeling from earlier building in his chest. He can’t deal with _more_ guilt. So he opens his mouth to fix it. Tell him to pull himself together and stop being weird. But before he can, Mondo’s speaking again.

“I don’t know what it’s like to live the way ya do. There’s probably so much stuff that someone like me couldn’t even _start_ to understand. But the Doc will probably want to talk about it sometime. An’ I know that I wouldn’t want to talk about somethin’ like that for the first time in a room full of people. So I thought that maybe it would be easier for ya to talk to one person first. An’ I’ll be that person. If ya want.”

There’s a fluttering in his ribs that feels softer than it should. Softer than he wants to admit. But it’s undeniable. Unstoppable. It makes him want to cry all over again, give in and let his weakness take control.

But this is what he wanted, right? He wanted to talk. What’s more personal than what goes on in his head? Absolutely nothing. So maybe if he talks, finds a way to untangle the mess he’s been in since he woke up this morning, then maybe he’ll start to feel better. Maybe he’ll be on the road to strong again.

“Sorry, bro. I probably said something real shitty an’ insensitive there, huh? Look, forget I said anything, yeah? Ya don’t need to…”

“Dark.”

Mondo’s eyes are wide as they turn back towards him. The boy was clearly not expecting a response and even if it was, he probably wasn’t expecting _that_ one. But the surprise quickly slips into confusion as he turns onto his side, propping his chin onto his palm.

“Dark?”

“Yeah.”

“Just _dark_?”

“Well. No. It’s a room with no lights. Just a big screen that shows us what is happening out here, the door and a chair.”

“That’s _it_?”

“What else do you think there is in prison?”

The speed in which the biker’s expression saddens is almost laughable. If this were any other conversation, any other person, Ishi’s instincts would have kicked in. He would have ripped the shit out of them, mocked them for being so dramatic.

But he doesn’t. That emotion on Mondo’s face is for him, after all. And not many people feel sad for him.

“A prison?”

“Well _yeah_.”

“Ya live in a _prison_?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a new expression on Mondo’s face as he pushes himself up. One that Ishi recognises better than any other emotion. It’s one that’s driven him for so long, the thing that gives him his strength. It’s the first emotion he ever associated with the boy in front of him; an emotion that he hasn’t truly shown in some time.

“The _fuck_ is he doin’ keepin’ ya in a fuckin’ prison?!”

“What?”

“I knew he said he keeps ya locked away but _shit_ , I thought the bastard was just goin’ overboard! I thought he was a good guy, but he’s just a fuckin’ sicko!”

“ _What_?!”

“We need to tell the Doc, bro! Ya can’t be lettin’ some hardass treat ya like that! She can make him…”

“She can’t do _shit_!”

_This_ is why Ishi doesn’t talk. Because no one _listens_. They don’t try to see from his point of view. They just jump on the things that _they_ find important, things that trigger a reaction to _them_. And in return, they do nothing but flare up _his_ temper. They arm the defense mechanisms that he’s been trying to diffuse and get caught in the firing line, only to blame him for blowing his fuse. When _actually_ , if they’d taken a second to fucking _listen_ , then the whole situation could have been avoided.

If Mondo understood _anything_ about him, about _Taka_ , then he would know that this isn’t something that either boy can control. The room has been a part of their lives ever since Ishi first came to be all those years ago. He woke up one day, alone and confused, watching the world go by through the eyes of a stranger. And when he spoke, tried to communicated, the boy became frightened. All of a sudden, he had a voice in his head that wasn’t his own. A voice that wanted _out_.

And then Ishi watched that boy get bullied. Beaten for being the grandson of a corrupt Prime Minister. Ridiculed for wanting to follow the rules. Shunned because of who he is and what he stands for. Going through _all_ of that with a voice in his head that wanted to help but couldn’t do _shit_ because the boy is stronger than he gives himself credit and ended up tying him to a chair without even thinking about it.

So all Ishi could do was watch helplessly; watch as the boy he realised he was there to help held him back. Crying tears of agony as his heart slowly started turning black with the hatred he felt towards other people. And the longer time went on, Ishi started to resent the boy whose body he shared. Resentment he channelled into his power and it became easier and easier to break free of his shackles whenever the boy let his guard down.

And that’s all Taka ever known; a feral beast that made him do things that were so against his nature. Out of control, violent, destructive, disrespectful, _insane_. There must have been a part of Taka that knew what Ishi would become, even if it was only subconsciously. 

_Yes_ , their relationship is better. _Yes_ , Ishi’s free of the chains that held him down for so long and has learnt to control his temper more than he could before. But the foundations were built to cage a demon. It will take a lot more than a civil understanding to break the mould. Especially when the person in question is as unstable as Ishi can be.

What do you with things you don’t understand? You contain them, observe them until they give you reason to trust them. And Ishi’s never given Taka _any_ reason to trust him, has he?

“You think it’s _really_ that simple?! Just say some magic words and everything will change?!”

“It’s worth a try, ain’t it?!”

“No! Of _course_ it fucking isn’t!”

“Why are ya gettin’ mad at me?!”

“You’re not _fucking_ listening!”

“I’m just _tryin’_ to help!”

_Of course he is_ , Ishi thinks to himself as he takes in the sight before him. On the surface, Mondo Oowada looks like he couldn’t give a fuck about anyone other than himself. Rough, uncaring, cold-hearted. But Ishi can read people like a book. And if he just takes a step back, bring himself back from the volcanic edge of rage that he’s about to jump into, then he can see what’s really going on inside Mondo’s head.

There’s concern deep down in those lavender eyes. It’s well hidden by a fury that almost seems to permanently reside within the boy, but it’s definitely there. But there might just be something else there too. A kind of understanding that Ishi can’t figure out. One that he wants to pick at and let it bleed so that he can see the inner workings of the boy in front of him.

But now isn’t the time and place. This is about _him_. Mondo learning to understand _him_ and _Taka_ and unless he calms down, he never will. So he takes a deep breath, just like the Doc taught him. Closing his eyes, releasing the steam of his temper in a long, slow exhale. And once he feel able to speak without shouting, he opens his eyes once again.

“You really think he would _willingly_ lock me away?”

“He did it before…”

“Yeah. _Before_. You think now that he understands me, now that we’ve met and talked and argued and laughed together that he could lock me up again?”

The other boy falls silent at his words and Ishi can read his every thought. Mondo and Taka don’t get on. Even before Mondo’s outburst there was never any denying the fact and fuck knows if they ever will be able to resolve their differences. But even _Mondo_ can see what kind of person Taka is. He’s kind, thoughtful, worrying about everything and anything because of all the pressure on his shoulders…

“He told me he hated me once,” Ishi find himself saying. “It was weird as shit.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t think he would ever admit it. It was something I used to use against him all the time. I’d put thoughts in his head and made him give up control. Made him tear his room to shreds, made him swear at his teachers, made him punch his dad in the face. Just because I _felt_ like it. And it was even better because he thought it was _him_ that was in control. So that meant he hated _himself_ and what better weapon is there than self-hatred?”

Of course, it had an impact when Taka realised that Ishi was there. That _Ishi_ was the cause of all the shit he’s done. That _Ishi_ was the rude one, the abrasive one, the one that punched people and ruined his family’s life. It was only a matter of time before the hatred shifted from himself onto the boy in his head. But even then, some things still stayed the same.

_Why am I like this?_ He remembers the conversation so well. Even after finding out that Ishi was in control of his own actions, Taka still found a way to put the blame on himself. Even after looking Ishi dead in the eye, acknowledging his own hatred in the flesh, he _still_ brought it back as a fault within himself. That _he_ was the broken one, _he_ was to blame for bringing Ishi into existence, _he_ was the one that had something wrong with him.

How was anyone expecting Ishi to react to this information? Were they expecting him to have a drastic change of heart, fall to his knees and beg for Taka’s forgiveness? Sure, he tried to think of an answer to Taka’s question but he couldn’t be bothered to put more effort in than he already was. He was tired from the arguing, tired from Taka’s freak out, tired of being two people rather than one. And any answer he could have come up with was left in the unknown.

And then Taka said those three words…

“He’d never said it out loud before,” he continues, tilting his head up to the sky. “Just straight up said ‘I hate you’. And even though I _knew_ he did, I was impressed that he’d had the guts to be blunt. Finally grew the balls to speak his mind for once in his life. And you know what he did straight after?”

Ishi isn’t really speaking to Mondo anymore. He doesn’t really know _who_ he’s talking to. Himself, Taka, some unknown force in the sky above him. It doesn’t matter either way. As he closes his eyes, a small smile creeping onto his face, he realises that these are words he should have said a long time ago. And that this clarity has been a long time coming.

“He _cried_ ,” he chuckles breathlessly, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’ve made his life a living hell, done all kinds of fucked up shit just to get him in trouble. He has every fucking _right_ to hate me and tell what a piece of shit I am. But the moment he does, he _cries_.”

Because _that’s_ the kind of person Taka is. Someone who hurts and suffers on a daily basis but _still_ has a fucking heart as big as the moon. It may be Ishi’s job to be help him up once he’s been knocked back, but it’s _Taka’s_ job to make sure he stays on his feet once it’s all over. It’s _Taka’s_ job to keep smiling at the people that hurt him. And that, when Ishi really thinks about it, must take an enormous amount of strength. 

“If Taka could change that room, he would,” he says, opening his eyes once again and locking them with the other boy’s gaze; determination burning white hot in his gut. “He’s not like me. He doesn’t let hate control what he does. So no matter how much he hates me, he’ll still help me. Even if I can’t do the same.”

Ishi isn’t sure how he’s expecting Mondo to react. The boy doesn’t even _know_ half of the stuff that’s gone on inside his head and Ishi wonders what he would think if he knew. Would he look at him differently if he knew, _truly knew_ , just how awful Ishi has been until now? Reconsider his previous statement and call _Ishi_ the sicko. Surely that feels more fitting.

Mondo’s hand is in his hair, ruffling the top of his head gently and it’s only when a stray tear drops onto the clenched fists in his lap that Ishi realises that he’s crying. He waits for the disgust to kick in, for the voices from before to start screaming at him again. He waits for the crushing humiliation, for the world to constrict around him and suffocate him, drowning him in his own negativity.

But nothing happens. He doesn’t sink, he doesn’t drown. He just feels peace and acceptance; feelings that all come in the form of the boy in front of him. A boy that accepts him for who he is, regardless of whether he’s weak or strong. A boy who watched him break down, watched him in his greatest moment of weakness, and still stays by him.

He’s going to let go of the words that have been eating him up on the inside. The words that mocked him, words that he’s tried to fight so hard just to prove that he’s meant to be here. And who better than Mondo to bear them?

“Taka’s strong,” he whispers, smiling wetly, sweetly, sadly. “He’s stronger than I could ever be. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

“Are ya frightened of that?”

“More than anything.”

Mondo’s hand is still in his hair; fingers slowly dragging through the short, black strands and gently massaging his scalp. A very small part of Ishi wonders when his beanie fell off; the part that wants to shove the hand on his head away with a snarl and hide himself away under layers of wool and cotton. But that’s silenced by the tingling sensation that seeps from Mondo’s fingers and gently imbues itself into his veins. Ishi has _never_ liked being touched. The thought alone has always made his skin crawl, his muscles tense.

But, as always, Mondo is the exception...

“Ya remind me of my brother.”

“Huh?”

“Ya asked me why I hang out with ya earlier. It’s because ya remind me of my brother.”

There was already a soft expression on Mondo’s face before this moment. But at those words, that softness shifts into something different. Something that looks a lot like sadness. The hand in his hair has gone, replaced once again by the beanie that he’d carelessly misplaced. He splutters slightly as Mondo pulls it down over his face, obscuring his vision before pushing it back up. And the hand on his forehead stays there, fingers back to kneading the top of his head as he speaks.

“Ya don’t look like him or anything,” he says. “An’ to be honest, ya don’t even _act_ anythin’ like him. Shit, ya act like _me_ more than anythin’. But there’s somethin’ about ya that makes me think of him.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was the only one that ever _really_ understood me. He didn’t make me feel like shit for bein’ angry all the time. He never made me feel like shit for bein’ dumb. He just wanted the best for me. But he was _strong_. Stronger than _anyone_ else. Stronger than me, that’s for sure. Guess that’s why a part of me resented him so much, even though I loved him more than anythin’ else.”

It’s now that Ishi finally understands. He understands why Mondo reacted so badly earlier. Mondo understands the fragile line between resentment and caring. He’s walked that line before, teetered on the narrow ledge and fallen into every single trap that Ishi has too. Jealousy is a bitter pill to swallow, Ishi has learnt far too late. And it seems that Mondo is on the same prescription.

“When I first met ya, I saw _me_ in ya. An angry kid who hated his brother. I know Taka _ain’t_ yer brother, but it still made me stop and think. How would _I_ have wanted someone to talk to me and treat me? An’ I realised what I wanted, what I _needed_ , was to stop bein’ in his shadow. To just be Mondo rather than Daiya’s little brother. But that never happened. Still hasn’t. So I guess ya don’t _really_ remind me of Daiya. Not really. I just want to make sure ya get to be yer own person. Otherwise ya might end up resentin’ Taka and end up doin’ somethin’ stupid. Just like I did.”

Mondo drops his gaze, hand dropping heavily back down to his side as he twists his body away; face contorting into yet another emotion. One that Ishi’s never seen on his face before. He’s seen this look on _other_ people’s faces before; on Taka’s dad’s face at his wife’s funeral even though he tried so hard to stay strong.

This is _grief_. That means that Mondo lost his brother. Just like Taka lost his mum.

Ishi’s never had to deal with grief before. Even though Taka had to go through the process of his mum dying, he never truly processed it. He’s been too busy dealing with Ishi, with bullies, with schoolwork and unrealistic goals to allow himself to truly feel the things he needs to feel. _Another fuck up to add to your list_ , he thinks bitterly.

He probably should have responded but there’s no chance to do so even if he wanted to. Mondo’s reached into his pocket and pulled out the pack of cigarettes. Ishi watches in silence as he plucks one of them out of the box by his lips, fingers fumbling in his pocket to look for the lighter. And as he cups his hand around the tiny flame, holding it up to the tip of the cigarette that glows softly as he inhales, Ishi finds himself feeling oddly fascinated.

Unlike Taka, Ishi doesn’t disapprove of the habit. Not even in the slightest. He doesn’t care if people want to fuck up their lungs just to get that addictive hit that he’s heard of so often. That’s their choice at the end of the day. The thing that bothers him, apart from the smell, is that the people he’s seen smoke are only doing it to look cool. He’s seen them in their gangs, whooping brainlessly to catch the attention of the rest of the world so that _everyone_ can see that they are _smoking_. And because they’re smoking that means they are _cool_ , right?

Most of the time, no. They just look fucking stupid because at the end of the day, all they’re _really_ doing is standing around with a little white stick between their lips and trying far too fucking hard. Being cool isn’t something you can fake and a cigarette is _not_ a fix-all for your popularity.

But that doesn’t mean a _damn thing_ when it comes to Mondo. The smoke billows out of his mouth like silk, weaving shapes that glimmer in the sunlight. It dances around his face, licking at his skin before drifting upwards, outwards and fading into the distance. And once Ishi drags his eyes away from the smoke and back onto Mondo’s face, he sees something he’s never seen before. A smoker that’s leant back on one hand, face relaxed; a quiet intensity radiating from him as brings the cigarette back to his lips effortlessly.

He’s not _trying_ to look cool. He just _is_.

“Ain’t he gonna tell me to stop?” the boy mumbles around the cigarette, peeking at Ishi from the corner of his eye.

“No.”

“Taka ain’t there tryin’ to kick my ass?”

“No. It’s just me.”

Mondo hums, breathing wisps of white through his nose. Ishi’s eyes follow the cigarette every time it hits his lips, hypnotised by the crackling embers that burn brightly every time Mondo inhales. But in a jarring contrast to his smooth movements, smoke huffs rapidly out of his mouth as the biker leans forward; hand outstretched towards Ishi.

“Want a go?”

As his eyes land on the cigarette in front of him, Ishi knows he should really say no. Taka will fucking _kill_ him if he takes up the offer. But there’s something that makes him reach out anyway. Perhaps he’s reached his limit of giving a fuck about what Taka thinks today. Could be. But he suspects it’s more the trance that Mondo’s put him in, the desire to connect to him even more than he already has done.

As he wraps his fingers delicately around the butt of the cigarette, it surprises him that it’s warm to the touch. When he takes a second to think about it, it makes sense. But it wasn’t something he was necessarily expecting. He’s never held one before, _especially_ not a lit one. And now that he is, his throat has gone dry with nerves. Nerves he doesn’t really want to admit _aren’t_ coming from Taka.

“Ya don’t have to if ya don’t want to.”

“Fuck off. I want to.”

He doesn’t. Not really. But he’s not going to back out now. And almost as if to prove his point, the cigarette is at Ishi’s lips before he has a chance to second guess himself.

The butt is slippery, damp against his lips. Saliva. _Mondo’s saliva_. His stomach turns slightly at the idea of someone else’s spit in his mouth, even if it’s just the smallest amount. But he quickly pushes the thought away, back to the furthest part of his mind and he tries to concentrate on the next steps, looking to Mondo for confirmation.

“Suck in.”

So he does. In hindsight, he realises he probably took in more than he should. His mouth is _full_ ; the smoke rolling around his tongue uncomfortably as it seems to continue to burn and crackle. _Tastes like fire_ , he thinks to himself as his face twists in disgust at the flavour. _Blow it out_. But before he can, the smoke reaches the back of his throat. It tickles, burns, irritating the flesh and triggers an involuntary reaction.

So instead of breathing out, Ishi breathes _in_.

“No, don’t…”

Oh shit.

_What’s going on?!_

Kiyotaka’s chest on fire as he tries to breathe, lungs creaking and wheezing as they struggle to differentiate air from poison. There’s a foul taste in his mouth, like burning paper, like coal, _like fire_ and he splutters helplessly; trying to hack up whatever it is that’s invaded his body. There’s a hand smacking against his back, slowly helping relax his sore, overworked lungs. He cracks an eye open, trying to blink away the tears that have built up. To his side, he sees a very blurry figure, one that looks more and more sheepish as his vision begins to clear.

“W-what h-happened?” he wheezes, only to see that guilty grin spread wider across Oowada’s face.

“Ya don’t want to know.”

“Of c-course I do! If w-we are in danger…”

“Jesus, yer not in danger. Stop bein’ so dramatic.”

“Then why…”

Oowada doesn’t have time to say anything more because there’s a biting at his fingers. One that feels either scorching hot or freezing cold; the line between the two paper thin. Either way, it catches him off guard and with a yelp of pain, he flicks his hand only to discover that he was holding something. A small, thin, white stick rolls across the gravel in front of him, fiery ash shedding from the tip. And as he finally puts the pieces together, Kiyotaka feels sick to his stomach.

“ _Did you give him a cigarette_?!”

Oowada gives nothing away as the screech hits him square in the face. He seems utterly disinterested in the mental breakdown happened in front of him, unwilling to divulge the information he has been asked for. But Kiyotaka doesn’t need him to say anything. There’s only _one_ person that could have possibly thought to help Ishi destroy his body in this way. Leon would _never_ do this, would _never_ betray Kiyotaka’s trust in this way. But Oowada…

“How _dare_ you?!” he screams, finally earning an arrogant smirk in return. “Smoking is against the rules!”

“Yeah, so?”

“ _So_?! I am the Ultimate Moral Compass! I cannot be seen to be smoking, _especially_ not on school grounds!”

“It wasn’t _you._ It was _Ishi._ An’ he _ain’t_ the Moral Compass.”

“Perhaps not, but it is _my_ reputation that you damage whenever you encourage him! _I_ am the one that everyone knows, that everyone has their eye on! I have to be _so_ careful at all times to make sure that no one learns our secret! You _know_ this, and still you let him do it anyway?!”

Once again, Oowada falls into silence and simply stares at him; just sat there with that smug grin on his face and Kiyotaka realises that he’s _enjoying_ this. He’s loving every single second of Kiyotaka’s discomfort. What kind of person can revel in someone’s misery?! And why is it _always_ Kiyotaka that has to see this side of the biker?

Regardless, the boy has broken the rules. He can be as cocky as he likes, he will pay the price for his actions. Standing up abruptly to brush the dust and ash off his jeans, he tries to ignore the way he looks as he glares down at the other boy.

“You have left me no choice. Smoking is prohibited and you have forced my hand. So now…”

“Yer gonna lock him up again, ain’t ya?”

There was something in his voice that brings Kiyotaka to a grinding halt. Yet the boy’s expression remains unchanged; the pompous grin still wide and his posture still relaxed. It’s unnerving, unsettling. And from the brief glimpses into Ishi’s memories, he knows that a threat hidden behind a smile is the most dangerous kind.

“Excuse me?”

“He didn’t follow yer rules, so he’ll be locked up again. In that room that ya keep him in. Ain’t that right, _Ishimaru_?”

The boy’s use of his surname makes the blood in Kiyotaka’s veins run cold. If there was any doubt before, there isn’t a shred of it now. That was _definitely_ a threat, one that is finally reflected in Oowada’s eyes. Kiyotaka’s used to empty threats, having been a victim to them his entire life. So a threat isn’t enough to frighten him. Not normally.

But there’s more to this one. The words have some weight to it. And it’s clear that the biker knows something that he shouldn’t.

“W-what…”

“Ishi told me,” the boy continues, rising slowly to his feet, expression darkening as he begins to drop the act. “He told me _all_ about the dark room. The one with nothin’ but a screen and a chair. That ring a bell, _Ishimaru_?”

“I don’t…”

“He called it a prison. A fuckin’ _prison_. Ya know what kind of people get put in prison, _Ishimaru_? Dangerous people. Is Ishi dangerous? Is he a criminal, _Ishimaru_?”

“N-no…”

“But he breaks the rules. _Your_ rules. An’ yer the Ultimate Moral Compass, ain’t ya? Ain’t it yer _job_ to lock away criminals like me and Ishi, huh?”

“N-no, that’s not right at all!”

“What are ya plannin’ to then, huh?! Ya said it yerself; we’ve ‘forced yer hand’! What are ya plannin’ to do?! How are ya plannin’ to punish him?!”

“ _Detention_!”

Oowada’s eyes go wide at that, the anger on his face dropping rapidly into confusion. There’s tears in Kiyotaka’s eyes now; ones of frustration and humiliation. He can feel his nails digging into his palms, his fingers squeezed into fists as he tries to control the emotions bubbling in his chest.

“I don’t know what he told you about…about that room. About me. But he’s got it _all_ wrong. _You’ve_ got it all wrong. I _don’t_ think he’s a criminal. I just…”

He trails off, his throat constricting around the words as a sob tries to escape. _That’s not true, is it?_ Because he _used_ to think that Ishi was a criminal. There’s no way he can convince _anyone_ that he’s never felt that way. All anyone would need to do is think back to all the times Kiyotaka _did_ keep Ishi locked up. He’s even _admitted_ it out loud with other people there to hear him. Everything that Oowada has said is true so how can he expect him not to call him out on it?

But things have changed. _Kiyotaka_ has changed. _Ishi_ has changed.

“You’re right,” he whispers, dropping his gaze in shame. “I _did_ used to think that. But…but now I don’t. Things are different. He hasn’t hurt anyone since…since that night. He’s getting better at controlling his emotions. He’s becoming a better person every day. He might not see it that way, but _I_ do. _I_ see the difference.”

Kiyotaka’s mind flickers back to the early hours of the morning. To the two solid hours that Ishi spent trying to comfort him. He didn’t have to do that. He could have just left him alone, let him suffer in the dark and silence. But he didn’t; he stayed by his side the whole time and did his best. And though Kiyotaka knew how uncomfortable he was, it was overshadowed by the fact that Ishi was there at all.

Ishi may not be the most empathic person. He may not know the words to say or the things to do to make someone feel better. But he _tries_. And that’s more than most people in Kiyotaka’s life has ever done.

“I know he’s vulgar and rebellious and doesn’t care about education in the slightest. And don’t get me wrong; I _hate_ those things about him. But there’s so many things about him that I wish I had. He’s confident, he’s personable, he knows more about reading people that anyone I’ve ever met…”

The purpose of Kiyotaka’s entire existence is to rebuild his family name. It’s what he’s been born to do and will do anything he can to make that goal a reality. But he knows he lacks vital skills he needs to be a good Prime Minister. But _Ishi_ has those skills; skills that come so easily to him. If only Kiyotaka could learn to tap into those skills, then maybe they would be a force to be reckoned with.

But he doubts that will ever happen. There’s too much about himself that would get in the way. Too much weakness that he will never overcome.

“But most of all, he’s _strong_. Not just physically, but _mentally_. Ishi can do so much that I could never even _dream_ of doing. I just hold him back. I know I do. I always have done. And I wish I hadn’t. And maybe if I listened sooner, maybe if I wasn’t so frightened, we could have done things differently. I’ll forever be sorry for that; for how I treated him before. And if I could make things right, if I could do something for him to be more comfortable, I would do it in a heartbeat. I just…I wish I could tell him. I wish he knew how I feel.”

A few seconds pass in silence; seconds that seem to drag on forever. Kiyotaka has never been able to read the room and knows that staring at Oowada’s feet won’t help him with that. But even if he wanted to lift his gaze, he doesn’t think he could. The weight of all the shame inside of him rests on his shoulders, tensing his muscles as he awaits his judgement. And there’s only one verdict he could ever expect…

But then there’s a hand on his head, ruffling his hair softly. _This doesn’t feel like the guilty sentence_. Wide eyes peek up, past the arm blocking his view to see a new look in the biker’s face. One that he’s only ever seen through Ishi’s eyes; a warm smile and a warmer gaze.

“He knows, Taka.”

Something creaks in Kiyotaka’s chest; it cracks and leaks, pooling down in his feet before pulsing around his entire body. It floods out in tears that finally spill hot onto his cheeks, releasing the pressure that was building and leaving him feeling lighter than air. Stale air that he held in his lungs sighs out with a smile, matching the one in front of him. And for a second, the restricted area, the smoking, the forest and its inhabitants; they’re all forgotten in a haze of happiness.

Away in the darkness, Ishi finally finds his bearings. He finds himself back in the chair that he’s known for so long, in the same four walls that have always surrounded him. But as he looks around, he immediately knows that something is different. There’s something here, illuminated by the glow of the screen, that _shouldn’t_ be here. Something he doesn’t recognise.

Nervously, he stands up; carefully making his way over. Afraid that it may disappear if he gets too close. But even as his hand rests against the ornate, wooden frame, it stays. It’s smooth to the touch, dust collecting on his fingers as he makes his way towards the handle. It’s cold, unused, and groans as he twists it; the hinges squeaking loudly in the silence as the door swings slowly open.

Once his eyes land on the contents, there’s a gripping sensation on his heart. One that brings tears to his eyes almost immediately, twisting his face into a mixture between sadness and happiness. Reaching out slowly, his fingers brush against cotton and wool and denim before bunching slowly in a particularly familiar item. Its colour so bright, so perfect, that it stands out amongst everything else.

Sobbing uncontrollably, he falls to his knees. Pulling the item down with him, letting it soak up the tears that would otherwise fall on the floor below him. And the red sweater is cradled in his arms for the longest of times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SO SORRY! It's been nearly two months since I uploaded! Ahhhh this chapter kicked my ass so hard. It kept switching and swapping, never letting me decide which way I wanted it to go. But finally I got it done. I hope it was worth the wait...
> 
> At this point, I'm just giving a heads up that the next...whole bunch of chapters will be focusing on developing the Taka/Leon relationship. Not that Ishi/Mondo will go away forever. It's just how it needs to go for the story to progress. So apologies in advance to Ishimondo shippers for that - I promise it'll come back eventually! But I hope the soft stuff I have planned for Ishileon will keep you with me for a bit!
> 
> I have had SO many amazing fanart images sent to me or created based on my fic it's insane. I try and reblog everything that I can when I'm made aware of it and all Broken Arrow stuff can be found in my broken arrow tag on Tumblr. Come find me @emiefaunwrites on Tumblr and if you have anything you want me to see or read or anything at all, just let me know! 
> 
> Thank you everyone for all your support - as always, kudos/comments are much appreciated and really do make my day. 
> 
> Much love x


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